


Touch Starved

by Isavuu



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mentions of Suicide, PTSD, Psychologist Reader, Psychology, Reader Insert, Slow Burn, Softcore smut, Therapy, mentions of mental illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-01-30 16:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12657066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isavuu/pseuds/Isavuu
Summary: All of the Avengers have problems. Thank goodness they have an in-house psychologist: you. You've helped every one of them overcome some kind of issue, but rehabilitating James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier, will be your toughest case yet. Good thing you're world-renowned, mentioned in textbooks, and have a soft spot for the angsty soldier. You find the only way to help Bucky, through the power of touch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I may have gotten carried away after I wrote like five chapters of this without fact checking! So, in this AU of sort, Fury and the other previous agents are beginning to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D, and Stark is leasing them the previous Avengers Tower. The Avengers are reunited and most of them are living in the Avengers Compound/Facility. Bucky is brought out of cryo-sleep as it is believed new S.H.I.E.L.D can help him. Watch as the Black Panther movie comes out and ruins the validity of this AU.

Your heels click with every step towards the room at the end of a long hallway in the Avengers Tower. Clutching a clipboard to your chest, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. It was done up neatly, in a style similar to those of the 1940s, as you had remembered how much Steve appreciated you integrating some old with the new. Your chest rises with a final deep breath before you turn the handle and take a small step into the room. The air seems heavy, and your eyes adjust to the low, natural light. A large, hunched over figure is sat on the edge of a chair by the only window of the room. He lifts his head to look at you, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes?” you ask, double checking the name on the clipboard, though you already know it’s him. “Can I turn on the light?”

“Yes,” a hoarse voice, one that had not been used in a few days, replies. According to his file, he prefers to be called Bucky by his friends, but he probably won’t be quite that comfortable with you for a while. You switch on the light, and he seems to wince. He brings up a large, metal arm to block the new light source from his eyes.

You take a few more steps into the room and say, “I’m sorry, I know the past couple of days have been hard.”

“It’s fine,” his voice is still rough, and the metal of his hand glistens against the light.

Finding a seat a few feet away from him, on the corner of his unmade bed, you click your pen. “I’m Dr. (Y/N) (Y/L/N), I’m a psychologist and I’m here to help you with the… mental and emotional part of your recovery,” you pause because he had just finished an intense physical detoxification. In addition to the super serum that HYDRA had injected him with all those years ago, they regularly pumped him full of other experimental drugs. Whatever made him stronger and faster than those he was forced to hunt. They would keep him strung out on stuff that worked, and even the body of a super soldier can’t handle everything. He had spent days locked in this little room, sometimes having to being restrained on the bed, to ride through the cleanse.

He finally puts his arm down, and you get the first good, unobstructed view of his face. It’s pale, and his hair is a little greasy, but even then, you can still see how incredibly handsome he is. The stubble can’t cover how strong and sharp his jaw is, and the frown that is gracing his lips can’t hide how soft and naturally pouty they are. His eyes blink a few times to adjust to the light, and finally look up to meet yours. They are an icy blue, too intense to stare at for more than a few seconds, so you clear your throat and look back down at your paperwork. 

“I want you to be able to trust me, so I brought you my file. I’ve read yours and I feel it’s only fair for you to read mine,” you start as you pull a file from the confines of the clipboard and hold it out for him. He doesn’t move, only keeping his gaze locked with yours, so you awkwardly place it down beside you on the bed. “Okay, well if you want to know anything, ask me, I’ll never lie to you. I feel as though doctor-patient confidentiality needs to go both ways.” You think you see his stiff posture relax for a split second at your words, only for him to tense up once again. 

“Have you ever been in contact with anyone even close to a HYDRA agent?” he asks strongly, his voice getting smoother with use. 

“I… wow, right out the gate. Um,” you shift and smooth out your pencil skirt, “I’ve barely left the United States, so I’m going to say probably not.” His eyes bore into you, so you feel like you need to explain further, “I went to England to tour one of my books. I have a couple of bestseller psychology-related books and an autobiography that did pretty well-” You stop talking suddenly to keep yourself from babbling. You usually never felt this nervous with new clients, but each time you started care with an Avenger, it was intimidating, especially one this handsome.

He crosses his arms, and smirks, as if he caught you. “You’re already lying. You’re with S.H.I.E.L.D so you’ve obviously had to have contact with HYDRA. They’ve told me how many times HYDRA has infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D and how many bases S.H.I.E.L.D has destroyed.”

You laugh a little, surprising the man, causing him to drop his arms from his chest, “no, I don’t go on any missions. I only take care of the Avengers. I’m not even technically part of S.H.I.E.L.D, I’m really just employed by Stark Industries.”

You think you see a hint of blushed embarrassment on him, and only receive silence. Although you find the blushing cute and little endearing, you stand up slowly, assuming correctly that he won’t speak to you anymore today. “I’ll be back tomorrow, please, read my file,” you finish. Once you reach the doorway, you see him pick up the manila file you left on the bed. A smile creeps across your lips as you close the door behind you and start to walk down the hall back to your office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is my first fic in literally years so please go easy on me..... I would love and appreciate comments and kudos, and thank you to every Bucky reader-insert writer for making me fall in love with his character and inspiring me to write my own fics! This is just the introduction chapter, but future ones will be longer! Mature content will come in later as well and those chapters will have warnings in their summaries!


	2. Chapter 2

As promised, the next day you head towards the infamous Winter Soldier’s room. This time you’re struggling to carry an extra chair, with Steve Rodgers, who strides ahead of you, easily carrying a table. He reaches the room first and happily opens the door, his super strength allowing him to hold a solid, wood table with only one hand. Steve is smiling contently, clearly excited that his best friend is within his reach. With his smile never fading, he announces his arrival, “Hey, Buck, it’s me!”

Steve goes into the room and once the table is set down, he smacks his friend gently on the back. You get to the doorway, still battling to carry the bulky chair. Steve finally notices you struggling, but instead of being his usually chivalrous self, he pushes Bucky towards you while saying, “C’mon Bucky, help out a dame in distress.”

Bucky smiles at him a little before stepping towards you and briskly taking the chair out of your arms with ease. He sets it down on the other side of the table, and you are able to get a better look at him. Bucky’s hair looks clean and he has tucked the strands that were in his face yesterday behind his ears. Color has started to return to his face, and although he is still in the standard issue sweatpants and S.H.I.E.L.D t-shirt, he looks better. He looks good. You find yourself staring for a split second too long before you walk completely into the room. “Thank you so much for your help, Steve,” you voice to the blond super soldier, trying politely to get him to leave.

“I know, I know, I have to go,” he says, looking to the other man, “I’m just glad you’re back.” Steve touches Bucky’s human shoulder, as if to make sure he’s really here before he turns his attention back to you. You watch Bucky’s face relax and lighten at the touch, and you mentally note what a positive influence Steve has on his mood. “I’ll see you later this week for our appointment, right (Y/N)?”

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it, doll,” you respond slyly with a smile as you go to sit down in the chair you two had brought. Steve laughs at the lingo that sometimes slips from his own lips as he heads towards the door. He leaves the room with a wave, making sure to gently close it behind him. You watch Bucky stare at the door, before turning towards the window and putting his hands in the pockets of his sweats. “You know James, I brought two chairs so that we could both sit down.”

“I’ve been sitting and laying around for weeks,” he replies bluntly. The soft glow of overcast from the window makes his face look soft, like he hasn’t seen and experienced so many horrors of the world. You just can’t help yourself from staring at him today it seems. He looks down at you briefly to state, “you and Rodgers seem like good friends.”

“I helped him when he first woke up,” you say, scooting your chair closer to table Steve brought, “you can’t help but get close to people when you tell them all of your deep, dark thoughts and feelings.” 

Bucky shifts so his body is facing you more, the topic interesting him enough for his body language to become a part of the conversation. “I thought he was terrible at talking to women.”

You laugh a little, “he was for a while, but I think he’s improved. Besides, I’m not some woman at a bar he’s interested in. I’m his therapist.”

Bucky keeps the room in silence, watching as the clouds begin to release droplets of rain onto his window. He sighs deeply and finally sits down in the chair that was originally in his room. He looks you up and down, “you didn’t bring your clipboard. Aren’t you supposed to take notes on every little thing I do and report them back to Fury?” 

You notice the frown on his face, and his scrunched brow before carefully answering, “again, I don’t work for S.H.I.E.L.D. They’re never going to see a word I write about you. That’s for me to help you as best as I can.” He doesn’t answer, but his face looks slightly more relaxed. “I didn’t bring my notes because I want you to feel like you can talk freely with me, about anything.” He stays silent, unwilling to give up the little control he has left. You sigh and reach into the pocket of your pantsuit, pulling out a very small notebook with a tiny pen attached to it. 

“Thought you didn’t bring your notes,” he eyes you. He keeps trying to catch you in a lie, but you only smile at him, confusing the soldier.

“It’s for you, James,” you say as you push it over to his side of the table, “I figured you might want to write things down in something you could easily hide.” He looks at it for a long moment, before flipping it open. You take that as a victory and your smile widens. Glancing up at you, his lips temporarily mimic your smile, before returning to their natural resting state.

“Thanks,” he says quickly, closing the notebook and returning his gaze to the now rain splattered window. You look out the window as well, both of you soaking in the simplicity of rain in New York City. There are soften outlines of other high-rise buildings next to the Avengers Tower. The distorted view the rain creates in the window allows Bucky to imagine New York back in the 40s, like he never left. You look back at the man sitting across from you and see the sadness in his eyes. 

The clock runs out the allotted time, the two of you sitting in silence for the remaining minutes of the session. You had known he wasn’t going to be a big talker, and an effective way to earn his trust would start by being a calming presence in his life. It felt nice, almost domestic in a way, to just sit with someone watching the rain. You didn’t want to leave, but you stand up anyways. Your movements cause Bucky to look up at you, surprised he asks, “you’re leaving?”

You nod your head and answer, “I’ll see you tomorrow though, okay?” He just looks at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his. As you head towards the door, he clears his throat deliberately, causing you to look back at him. 

“What should I call you,” he inquires, “Dr. (Y/L/N) or…?”

“You can call me whatever makes you feel comfortable, James, but I’d prefer you just use my first name.”

He shifts in his seat to face you. “You don’t have to call me James, Bucky is fine.”

Your hand is turning the doorknob, and you smile. “Okay, Bucky… see you tomorrow.” While opening the door and exiting the room, you are hyper aware of the eyes watching you, and you love it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments, kudos, and bookmarks give me life, thank you for the support!  
> I'm so tired I tried to put this chapter in the summary and I cried because it kept going over the character limit.


	3. Chapter 3

A couple of weeks pass by, and although you see Bucky almost every day, he has been reluctant to let you in on his thoughts. He allows bits and pieces by, mostly to test what you will do with the information. He knows you’re not a physical threat, but he also knows that words are capable of the same amount of damage. Bucky is constantly trying to catch you in a lie, and you regret saying that you’d never lie to him. As handsome as he is, his mistrust of you is getting on your nerves. You’re here to help him, but you’re only human. Your human side has been betraying your professionalism as well. Intrusive thoughts about how gorgeous he looks when he stretches, or how you’d love to feel his lips against your skin are pushed to the back of your mind.

On another drizzly day, you try to open his door, confused when it won’t budge. It’s usually never locked for you, so you take your keycard out of the binder you brought and scan it. The door unlocks, and you enter the usually tidy room. You stop mid-step as the light flickers, barely hanging on by a thread to the ceiling. The little bit of furniture that was in his room is misplaced, drawers broken and on the opposite side of the room from the dresser and night stand they belong to. The table Steve had helped bring in weeks ago has a huge crack in it. Clothes are strewn about and the bed is completely flipped over. Bucky is sitting in his chair, arms crossed and looking at you.

“W-what happened to your room?” you look at him in surprise. In your notes you had written that he would continue having episodes of violence, but most likely never in his living space, his safe space. He didn’t answer, his eyes were clouded with stress, but it looks like his episode has been over for a couple of hours. Bucky reaches over and brushes a shirt off your chair as a silent invitation for you to sit down in your usual spot.

Gingerly, you stepped over clothes, chips of wood, and broken glass to take your seat across from him. “Are you okay…?” you venture, wondering why S.H.I.E.L.D agents would keep this from you. You weren’t surprised though, getting information out of them was like pulling teeth, a tactic that Bucky was probably familiar with.

“They lock me in this room every night,” Bucky began, breaking the silence. “I only see three people regularly, you, Steve, and that guy that brings me food. I don’t even get to pick what food I want, it’s just brought to me. And Steve…” he trails off and his brow furrows, “Steve just talks about all of these things I don’t understand. He talks about people I don’t know or care about. Sometimes… he talks about the past. Back when he was small, and he talks about things that I can’t fucking remember.” 

His human fist bangs down on the already damaged table, causing the crack to grow. You haven’t heard him swear before, and you certainly haven’t ever heard him talk this much before either. Instinctively, you reach across the table and put both of your hands over his fist, feeling his arm relax almost immediately. His hair is obscuring most of his face, but he looks into your sympathetic gaze and continues to talk.

“I like it when you sit with me, it’s… nice, but every time you leave I hear the door lock. It drives me crazy.” His jaw tightens, and he withdraws his hand from under yours. “Why are you trying to keep me locked in here? You keep saying you’re not with S.H.I.E.L.D, but you act like it.”

“No, I’m not, and I had no idea they were keeping you locked away. Here, look,” you dig through the binder that has been sitting on your lap and pull out a file. You push it towards him and open it, showing how few papers are inside. “This is literally all they’ve given me on you. I’ve requested so many times for them to show me the redacted information,” you say as you point towards the many black lines on the papers, “or to give me the confidential files, which I know they have.”

He leans back in his chair, pushing the papers apart to get a better look at them. The usual silence returns as he tries to read through the sharpie. His breath seems irregular, frustrated, and his forehead is creased with anger. In a show of defiance, he stands and pushes the papers off the table, leaving them to land among the wreckage. 

“Bucky, I’m on your side,” you plead. You wonder why your chests hurts so much at the thought of him never fully trusting you. “I’ve suggested more socialization for you, but they don’t tell me what happens to you when I’m not here.”

With pursed lips, he only stares at you in response. He wants more, he doesn’t believe you, he doesn’t think you have the power to change anything. It seems like even the rises of his broad chest are filled with anger.

You decide the best approach to his anger is with your calm. “I’ll arrange a… field trip… tomorrow,” you promise, “but before I leave to do that, I think we should clean up your room a little.”

It takes him a while to respond, as his breathing slows, and his face relaxes. You hadn’t lied to him yet, so he allows a sliver of hope to enter his mind. His fists unclench, and he nods his head slightly. He starts by pushing his chair into the table, as you begin to gather your papers that he threw. Quickly, he grabs the rest of the papers and hands them to you, so you don’t have to pick them up. “Sorry,” he says ever so quietly.

You smile at him with forgiveness, and the two of you salvage what you can out of the mess. The small trash can is overflowing with debris, and you know that someone from either Stark Industries or S.H.I.E.L.D is going to have to buy a new furniture set for the Winter Soldier. After he flips his bedframe and mattress back over, the last thing you do with Bucky is make his bed. You’re both on either side of it, pulling up his comforter to cover his pillow. You meet his light blue eyes for a second and your heart flutters. Bucky smooths the creases out of his blanket, something he most likely picked up from his days in the military. Watching him do something so simple gives you the confidence that he’ll be okay in your absence for now. You scoop up your binder and tell him the regular, “see you tomorrow, Bucky,” before turning towards the door.

“(Y/N)…”

You’re embarrassed at how quickly you turn around to the sound of your name from his voice. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

It sounds like he’s thanking you for helping him clean the room, but it feels like it means so much more. You grasp the binder closer to your chest as you answer, “be ready for tomorrow.”


	4. Chapter 4

Silently, you slide your keycard through the scanner. After hearing a small click, you push into Bucky’s pitch-black room, closing the door as quietly as possible. With his enhanced hearing, Bucky sits up rapidly in his bed. You quickly flip on the light and whisper, “It’s just me,” focusing entirely on not startling him into violence.

He again winces at the bright light before he replies, “what the hell are you doing here so early?”

You shush him, trying to get him to lower his voice. With the light on, you get a better view of the new room. His broken furniture has been replaced with an all stainless-steel set. The legs of the dresser, nightstand, bed, and table are drilled into the floor. The only things that were left alone are the two chairs pushed neatly into the shiny, new table. He gets out of his bed, as to not be in such a vulnerable position in front of you. His chest is bare, and he has on a very low set pair of sweatpants. 

Your eyes trail slowly from his collarbone to the waistband of his sweats. “Uh,” you clear your throat and look back at his face. Thank goodness his eyes were still squinting from the sudden light, and not watching you thoroughly checking him out. You move to his dresser and pull out a fresh set of clothing for him to wear, the most inconspicuous outfit you could put together. While you dig through his drawers, he wanders over to you, stifling a yawn. You place the clothes into his arms and he raises his brow with confusion.

“I said I’d take you on a field trip, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t think it’d be so early.”

“Well,” it was getting hard for you to not keep glancing at his muscular chest, “you’d better get dressed.”

He nods and goes into the small, adjoining bathroom to change. You go back to his door and prop it open, ever so slightly to look down the hall. Thankfully, you had timed this trip perfectly, and no one could be seen. Bucky exits the bathroom, with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He is also wearing a long sleeve tee to conceal his arm, and a plain baseball cap to help hide his shoulder length hair. You turn just in time to see his eyes scan over your body, antagonizing slow. Blush spreads across your cheeks before you realize it’s probably because he’s never seen you dressed so casually. You have your hair down with tight-fit jeans, and embarrassingly enough, a Captain America shirt. 

He’s staring at your shirt, where Cap’s shield is stretched across your chest. You cross your arms over it and frown at him. He shakes his head and smiles widely at you, which is rare. “Cute shirt,” he laughs.

You shush him again, wondering why a skilled assassin won’t keep his damn voice down. “It’s an inside joke,” you mumble under your breath as you push the door open wider. The second you do so, a tired looking security guard ambles across the hall. With a squeak, you try closing the door and stumble backwards into the chest of the Winter Soldier. He swiftly brings his hand up to the door to keep it from slamming, caging you against the wood. His eyes are focused on the guard, until he disappears into another room. You stare helplessly up at him, obviously not as sly as you thought you were. 

The pure focus and determination on his face is extremely attractive. His lips are in a tight line and his eyes are scanning the rest of the hallway. He’s keeping you trapped against him as he waits for another threat to present itself. You feel safe. You feel good.

Swallowing hard, you whisper, “I think we can go now…”

“Hm,” he responds as he opens the door wider and looks down at you, waiting for you to move. Your body doesn’t want to leave his, but you take a few cautious steps into the dim hallway. He stays awfully close to you as you lead him towards the elevator at the opposite end of the hall. Once safely inside, you scan your keycard and enter in a code. Bucky watches you carefully, trying to understand what you’re doing.

Glancing back at him you explain, “oh, we’re going to the roof, it’s limited access but Tony gave me the code. He’s pretty much given me free reign of this place.”

“Stark?” he clarifies.

“Yes,” you confirm.

“Can you… thank him for the new arm?” he asks as he flexes his metal limb. You turn completely towards him as the elevator rumbles and starts the long ascent. The corner of your lips twist up into a half-smile and his eyes narrow at you. “What?” he asks a little roughly.

You shake your head, murmur a soft “Sure,” before you look back at the elevator door. Tony had shown a great amount of forgiveness to bring Bucky into his life, and you are surprised that the Winter Soldier is returning the forgiveness for ripping off his arm in the first place. Although Stark didn’t trust him enough to allow him near the new Avengers compound, he has still allowed him back into New York. There are butterflies in your stomach at the success this field trip has already proven to be. It feels so good to get people to open up to you, especially the usually stoic man standing behind you. 

Once the elevator doors open, a chill fills the small space. You bring your arms around you, feeling a little stupid for not bringing a coat. You may have a masters and a doctorate, but you let the adrenaline of breaking Bucky out get the best of you.

The sky is a navy blue, with hints of yellow on the horizon. Surrounding buildings of the Avengers Tower are shrouded in shadow, and the city seems calm. You move towards the edge of building, where a loveseat sized bench is situated. Placing your hand on the back of it, you turn to watch Bucky. 

He has not been outside in a while, and the first thing he does when he steps out of the elevator is to take a deep breath of the crisp air. With closed eyes, he takes off his hat and runs his metal hand through his hair. The sun starts to arrive on the horizon, soft yellow and light blue spreading across the clouds. You smile to yourself and sit down on the bench, figuring he would join you when he was ready.

Bucky moves to the edge of the building, placing his hands on the barrier and looking out at the shimmer of the skyscrapers. You have never seen him so serene and you smile as the rising sun creates a soft glow around him. However, the chilly morning wind starts to pick up and you begin to shiver. He turns to look at you, the breeze blowing his hair across his face.

“Are you cold?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No.”

You roll your eyes a little as the super serum probably balances his body temperature more regularly than the average person. He smiles and comes to sit next to you on the bench. 

“Maybe you should have worn something other than a Captain America shirt,” he says as he scoots closer to you and rests his arms on the back of the bench. His thigh bumps into yours and the warmth is almost overwhelming. 

“What, like a Winter Soldier shirt? I don’t think they’ve begun the mass production on those yet,” you snark back.

He lets out a small chuckle and turns his attention back to the skyline. The sun of the new day is bathing everything in a warm, orange light. Bucky closes his eyes once again and tilts his head back to soak it in. You can literally feel the change in his energy. He seems so calm and at peace. There is no way that S.H.I.E.L.D would be able to argue that this wasn’t good for him. 

You two sit on the top of the Avengers Tower until the sun has risen above the Empire State Building in the distance. Although you are cold, the body heat radiating from the soldier sitting next to you is enough to keep you from shivering. 

“They’re probably wondering where I am,” he says softly while turning his head towards you.

“I’m sure the guy that serves you breakfast is freaking out,” you laugh.

He gives you a tight-lipped smile, obviously growing anxious about what S.H.I.E.L.D may do to him. He shifts uncomfortably, and you pick up on his unease. You brush his knee with your fingertips in a meager attempt to soothe him as you say, “we can go, but you’re not going to be in danger. They can’t punish you.”

Even with the slightest touch, he stops fidgeting and responds, “They already have.”

“Are you referring to your new furniture?”

“It feels like a lab. And they’re still keeping me locked in there,” he adds.

“Okay,” you say with confidence, “I’ll fix it.”

He laughs at your self-assurance and your mouth gapes open to feign offense. “Excuse me, but I will fix it,” you say with even more faith in yourself, “trust me.”

“All right,” he says with a hint of stubbornness. You can practically hear the wall he has built around himself cracking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I tagged slow burn, I meant slow burn. Comments/kudos/bookmarks mean the whole world to me! Thank you for all the support!


	5. Chapter 5

S.H.I.E.L.D. is not pleased with you after your little field trip with Bucky. Trying to rebuild their agency has been difficult enough without the threat of another rogue super soldier bringing it all back down again. Fury is incredibly irritated at your disregard for his authority. However, much to his frustration, you politely, yet repeatedly, inform him that you do not work for S.H.I.E.L.D. You tell him that you’ll keep breaking Bucky out every chance you get until he relinquishes some of his control. He finally cracks, and you are able to create a schedule for the Winter Soldier. A couple of days after your sunrise visit to the roof, you enter Bucky’s room, with the schedule in hand.

“I did it!” you say gleefully.

He is sitting casually in his chair, with his human arm resting on the new, metal table. Waiting for you, per usual, he looks up to meet your eyes. “Did what?” he asks.

“Fixed it,” you answer as you sit down in your chair and pass him the schedule, “kind of. It’s a start at least.”

Bucky scans the paper and sighs softly.

You feel your confidence deflate a bit, but you point to the section under today’s date. “You get to eat outside of your room today.”

His interest piqued, he picks up the paper and reads the rest of the itinerary for the day. “With Steve,” he adds with a half-smile.

“Sam, too,” you tell him, and his smile fades, “there will be guards there too, I couldn’t get them to budge on that.” Seeing his lips pulled down into a frown, you can tell he has animosity towards this idea. All the excitement that had built from this deal drains from you. With a defeated huff, you check the time and stand back up. “Get dressed, lunch is in ten. I’ll wait for you outside.” 

While you wait outside the door to his room, you look through your own copy of his schedule. Feelings of stupidity and naiveté swirl around your mind as you rest the back of your head against the wall. You thought you had the upper hand against the S.H.I.E.L.D. director, but he played you. He negotiates for a living, and he made you think that you had won. Bucky cautiously opens the door, feeling like he’s doing something against the rules. The dark side of his energy is ever so present today, as if a black cloud is over his head. 

You push yourself off the wall you were leaning on and begin leading him down the hall without a word. He follows closely behind you, just as he had the other day. It’s hard to tell if he’s using you for safety or if he’s attempting to provide you with protection. You keep your silence throughout the elevator ride to the floor with the kitchen and Bucky doesn’t attempt to break it. Both of you wander to the dining room area, and you pause when you see Steve and Sam. You had stopped so suddenly that Bucky bumps into your backside and utters an apology. He’s distracted by scanning the room and assessing the two security guards at the other exits. Both turn to look at Bucky and one of them speaks into their earpiece, most likely announcing your arrival.

Steve is just finishing setting the table, and lifts his head when he hears his friend’s voice, as quiet as it was. A smile spread across his face and he calls out, “Hey!” as he approaches you. The blond embraces you in a quick hug, causing Bucky to take a step back.

“Man, he looks like your puppy,” quips Sam as he also approaches you to give a hug as well, while watching Bucky. You look back at him fast enough to see his eyes narrow, before his face relaxes when Steve hugs him too.

“Cool it with the jokes,” you whisper into Sam’s ear while he has you in his arms.

“Fine,” he mumbles back, before letting you go and offering his hand to Bucky. “Good to see you again, Barnes.”

“Mhm,” Bucky replies and shakes Sam’s hand with his metal one. You know he’s just trying to intimidate the other man, but he’s doing it quite blatantly. A small, exasperated sigh escapes your lips before you try and redirect the conversation. 

“It smells good,” you say, stepping between the two men who are much larger than you. 

Steve beams and returns to the table. “We had the kitchen set up burgers for us. It’s a build it yourself kind of deal,” he says as he gestures towards the spread of deconstructed burger ingredients. It smells great, and you decide to sit down so the boys will follow your lead. Sam follows you to the table, helps you push in your chair, and once you’re situated he takes the seat next to you. You watch as Bucky eyes the chair across the table from you, but Steve is already pulling it out and beginning to sit down. He looks a little tense as he takes the remaining seat. You wonder to yourself if it’s because he’s so far away from you, but dismiss it as a selfish thought. 

Everyone starts to build their burgers, and you immediately notice that the three men with you seem to be having a competition on who can eat the most calories this afternoon. Bucky stacks three patties onto one bun, Sam is stuffing an absurd amount of toppings into his double decker, and Steve is civilly making himself two separate, but large burgers. Steve is chatting away to Bucky, with Sam interjecting occasionally, as you make your own simple and singular burger. You wouldn’t have been able to have another even if you wanted to, since the rest of the patties are on everyone else’s plates. 

“We had just taken- oh,” Steve stops mid-sentence and looks around the table, “I forgot the fries.” He finishes the last bite of his first burger and stands.

Bucky places his ridiculously tall burger back onto his plate and wipes his hands and mouth on his napkin. “I’ll get them with you,” he says after he swallows the bite he was chewing and gets up as well.

Steve leads him towards the kitchen door, but stops when the security guard shakes his head and holds up his hand to halt him. “He can’t go in,” the guard barks, gesturing towards Bucky.

“Why the hell not?” Sam demands, standing abrasively. You put down your burger and watch as Sam’s chest puffs out and his fists clench, a response you weren’t expecting from him. 

“There are weapons in there,” the guard states, eyes locked bravely with the Winter Soldier’s. Taking the eye contact as a threat, Bucky steps closer, towering over the guard. 

“I don’t need a damn bread knife to kill you,” the brunet expresses, venom dripping from every word. He succeeds in frightening the guard, as the smaller man must take a step back. His hand falls and scrambles for the taser in the holster on his hip. The other hand goes to press his earpiece and it feels like time slows as he calls for back-up. Bucky is now enraged, tired of feeling like a prisoner when they tell him that he’s been freed. The guard draws his taser and lifts it up to press it against the soldier’s chest. Swiftly, Bucky punches the other man’s wrist with his metal hand, breaking it instantly and causing the taser to clatter to the ground. 

“Buck, no!” Steve exclaims as he brings his arm out in front of his friend’s chest to stop him from further harming the guard. The guard falls, cradling his shattered hand closely to his body as he desperately reaches for his fallen taser. The other guard has his taser aimed at the Winter Soldier, approaching him from behind. Sam kicks the dropped taser out of the security guard’s reach and stands between the other one and Bucky with his hands up. 

Bucky forcefully pushes Steve away, causing him to crash into the window, cracking the glass. He kneels on top of the guard and brings his fist crashing down onto his face. It takes Steve a few moments to recover before he’s on Bucky, restraining his arms. Everything is happening so fast for you, but you can see in the standing guard’s eyes that he’s going to shoot Bucky, and Steve with the taser, set to the highest setting. He pushes Sam out of the way and his finger starts to squeeze the trigger. You spring out of your seat and kick your chair into the guard’s legs, causing him to fall, and shoot his taser into Sam’s thigh. 

Steve watches as shocks course through Sam’s body, making him convulse as he drops to the floor. With Cap distracted, Bucky rips out of his hold and lurches towards the door, the flight of his fight or flight reflex kicking in. He doesn’t make it that far because the entrances to the dining room are swarmed with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents holding real guns up to him. With Bucky covered, Steve moves to Sam’s side, pulling the probes from his leg and turning him onto his back.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents force Bucky to back against the wall, and he brings his hands to the back of his head. You have never seen anyone as angry as Bucky looks right now, and fearing for his safety against bullets instead of shocks, you dash between agents to get to him. In the back of your mind, you know that the agents are yelling at you to get out of the way, but you know they wouldn’t shoot a civilian if they could help it. 

Once you reach him, your hands immediately go to cradle his cheeks. He doesn’t move, but his eyes are darting between all of the agents. You press your chest against his and pull his face down to look at you. “Bucky,” you plead as his ice blue eyes finally lock with yours, “just look at me. Focus on me.” He blinks a few times in confusion, and you can feel his rapid breathing against your body. He pulls his hair in aggravation, and his face is twisted in distress, but he doesn’t look away from you. You smile sweetly at him, “Hey, it’s me, it’s okay,” you say softly as you stroke his cheek with your thumb. 

Steve waits until a medic reaches Sam, before he pushes through the agents, who are still yelling at you to get out of the way. Just as Steve reaches you and Bucky, an agent grabs your waist and pulls you away from Bucky. Steve instantly takes your place in front of his friend to protect him, and raises his hands in surrender. 

You struggle to escape the agent’s grasp as he pulls you out of the room. It’s getting harder for you to see the two super soldiers, but Bucky’s eyes are still focused on you. You reach your hand out to him. “I’ll fix it,” you shout, “trust me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/kudos/and bookmarks literally make my heart soar and keep me writing!  
> I hope you enjoyed my mini action scene, I've never written one and I literally acted it out with my boyfriend to make sure it made sense haha, it was fun


	6. Chapter 6

“Put me down!” you screech. Adrenaline is coursing through your body as you claw at the agent’s arms around your torso. He has dragged you down the hall and is now depositing you forcefully into the elevator. You scramble to get back up in time to stop the doors that are shutting you inside. It’s too late and the elevator starts to descend. As quickly as you can, you try sliding your keycard into the brightly lit panel. A long, harsh beep leads you to believe that your privileges have been revoked. S.H.I.E.L.D works fast. 

Your heart rate declines as the elevator nears the ground floor. With a weary sigh, you decide to make yourself look more presentable. You smooth your skirt and run your fingers through your hair before you look down at your uneven feet. During the struggle, your left shoe must have fallen off. You kick off the remaining kitten heel and decide that being barefoot is more dignified than walking with an awkward bump in your step. 

The elevator opens, and you are met with two agents, one of which is holding a cardboard box. After a tentative step, and some cold glares, you see that the container is full of things from your office. S.H.I.E.L.D works very fast. Your heart drops and you’re so distracted that you let the empty-handed agent grab your arm and start leading you towards the exit. All you can think about is Bucky’s helpless gaze as you were dragged from the room. His fingers pulling at his hair. How his stubble felt against your hands cradling his face.

Your head is clouded with thoughts of the Winter Soldier as you are escorted out of the Avengers Tower and onto the busy New York sidewalk. The loud buzz of the city and the chill of the air brings you back to awareness. The agent releases your arm to hail you a cab, and the other hands you the box of your things. Once a yellow taxi pulls up in front of you, the agents take a couple of steps back, still lingering to ensure that you leave. You drop your shoulders back to straighten your posture and lift your chin a bit as you enter the cab. You are as graceful as you can be with your arms full and no shoes. As the cab pulls away from the curb, you press the back of your hand against the window, middle finger standing straight.

“Uh, where to?” the taxi driver asks, his eyes meeting yours in the rearview mirror.

You give him an address close to the Avengers Compound and avert your eyes from his, closing your lips in a tight frown. It only takes a couple of minutes before New York traffic swallows your cab. Muffled car horns and low volume music fill the cramped backseat. The driver keeps glancing at you in his mirror and you finally meet his curious gaze with a harsh, “What.”

“Can I ask what happened? I don’t mean to pry, but I’ve never seen someone get kicked out of the Avengers Tower,” he inquires timidly.

“It’s S.H.I.E.L.D’s tower now,” you say, dodging the question and looking back out the window. The edges of the glass are beginning to fog up from the temperature difference, and you watch as it creeps closer to the center. The haze must have appeared on the window shield as well, because the driver starts to blast uncomfortably dry, hot air into the cab. If you were to answer the driver’s question, you would have probably said, _I think I just got fired from a job I didn’t even have._

Bucky had been right, you didn’t work for S.H.I.E.L.D, but it felt like it. They give you an office, you have patients there, yet your paychecks still say Stark Industries. You rest your head against the cool window and you let your mind run wild with thoughts of how to get back to Bucky for the remaining hour of the taxi ride. 

Once the driver pulls over two streets away from the compound, you realize you don’t want to walk all the way in barefoot. Giving up on anonymity, you instruct him to keep going and you catch his eyes widening with excitement in the mirror. He puts his car in park and turns back to look at you for payment. It dawns on you that you don’t have your wallet, just your useless S.H.I.E.L.D keycard. It is just not your day.

“Can I have your card?” you ask roughly, and he reaches back to hand you a small business card. “Thanks,” you say as you drop the card into your box and climb out of the cab, “Tony Stark will pay you back.”

“He’ll do what?” you hear the cab driver squeak as you slam the car door shut. You feel a little bad, but you know Tony will repay the poor man graciously. The cab leaves once you reach the security guard’s station outside the entrance of the compound. 

No wallet also means no identification, and when the guard asks for your ID, frustration takes control of your body. Angry tears fall from your cheeks and you manage to choke out, “P-please just c-call Stark. H-He knows me.” You know you look like a hot mess, but the guard happens to recognize you and takes pity on the crying woman in front of her. As she rings Stark’s office, you add, “T-Tell him to bring shoes,” with another sob. After she gets off the phone, she climbs out of her station to comfort you. She takes the box from your arms and places it on the ground before patting your back. With her gentle touch you are able to compose yourself before Tony shows up. 

Showboating per usual, Stark decides to put on his Ironman gloves and boots and fly to the other side of the compound. As he lands, the security guard returns to her station to give you two privacy. “You couldn’t have just walked?” you say with a half-hearted smile, sniffling and noticing the pair of worn, red Converse dangling from his neck.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replies with a grin, which suddenly disappears from his face at the sight of your disheveled appearance. He notices your puffy eyes and red nose. His eyes dart down to your bare and dirty feet, and he pulls off the shoes from around his shoulders. “You know you work here right, and shoes are usually required?” he remarks, handing you the Converse by the shoelaces.

You ignore him and ask, “Are these Pepper’s?” as you take the pair and undo the laces connecting them. 

“When she’s feeling casual,” he gives you a pointed look before squatting down to examine the contents of your box. You glance at him before slipping on the shoes that are a size too small, as Pepper is a petite woman. Your heel crushes the back of the shoe, but you don’t care too much She and Stark have plenty of money to buy a new pair. He pulls off his Ironman gloves and digs around the cardboard box, before standing back up. There is a hint of actual shock in his face as he gestures towards the remnants of your office and says, “Uh, oh, did someone get fired today?” 

You quickly look up and focus your eyes on the grey overcast, to keep tears from rolling down your cheeks. With arms cross against your chest, you answer, “K-Kind of.”

Stark lets out a low chuckle and an exaggerated heave as he picks up the cardboard box. “C’mon Dr. (Y/N),” he declares as he begins walking, “don’t beat yourself up about it. Happens to the best of us.” You know he’s teasing you, but his words actually make you feel better. You wipe the tears from your eyes and trail behind him. “Besides,” he adds, “we finally have your suite ready.”

\--

You were one of the best, brightest, and youngest at New York University when an opportunity of a lifetime was opened for you. While finishing up your doctorate with your thesis on PTSD and rehabilitation, you were given the chance to help reintroduce the famed Captain America to present day society. Since you were still a student, and this would be a part of your dissertation, you were not technically employed, but you were given access to S.H.I.E.L.D and Stark Tower. 

Pepper was the one to notice how much of an asset you were. After the Battle of New York and Stark’s fight with the Mandarin, she realized that her boyfriend was suffering PTSD and had developed anxiety from the first Avengers’ battle. You were only meant to be Steve’s psychologist, then Stark’s, but that plan fell through as you realized just how much the Avengers needed you. Bruce struggled with his previous suicide attempts and obvious anger management issues, Thor had major familial problems, Clint had overwhelming guilt from his brainwashing, and Natasha had serious abandonment issues among other things. Almost all of them were touched by PTSD in some way. After the tragedy of Sokovia, and the joining of new members, you were needed more than ever. However, when they were away on missions, you had plenty of down time to turn your dissertation on Steve into a book, write another about how regular people can help with their loved one’s PTSD, and finish a small autobiography of your life experiences so far. 

Word got out in the psychology community that you were the in-house psychologist for the Avengers and your book ratings skyrocketed. Your book about the unique view of Captain America became so popular that you were approached to do book signings. Trying your best to stay around the north-east region of the states failed as you were asked to do a six-month long tour and speech circuit in England. When you left, the Avengers were still discussing the Sokovia Accords, and by the time your tour started, the Avengers were no more. Pepper urged you to stay in England to keep you safe and neutral, stating that they’ll need you when they come back together. You prolonged your stay in Europe until the Avengers were officially reunited. Pepper had been giving you vague updates, but you didn’t know how they were unified again. You’re still trying to piece it together from the snippets they tell you in their therapy sessions. 

Once you finished your doctorate, you were able to snag an affordable apartment near the Avengers Tower. When Tony moved operations to the compound, you were starting your US book tour, and were out of the area so often that you didn’t move with him. You sub-let your home when you moved to England. After returning, you were able to move back into your old apartment, as the Winter Soldier was your prime focus and he was being kept at the old Avengers Tower. You had voiced to Stark that the goal was for Bucky to be well-adjusted enough to live with his new colleagues, and then you would finally move into the compound. 

\--

Tony and Pepper exceed all expectations you had for your suite. After traveling into the building of living quarters, and up to the second level, Stark sets your box down outside an innocuous door. 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., be a darling and open the door for Dr. (L/N),” he orders the compound’s interface.

“Sure thing,” an Irish voice replies as the door swings open.

Your mouth immediately gapes at the luxurious apartment that you now get to call home. You step out of Pepper’s shoes and walk inside, vanilla and lavender lingering in the air. From the mahogany hardwood floors to the ornate crown molding, everything was perfect. 

“Oh my god, Tony,” you breathe as you walk over to brush your hand across a vintage-styled couch. You don’t even have to look back at him to know he’s grinning like the cat that caught the canary. Before you can further admire the living room set, a piece of art hanging in the hallway to the kitchen catches your eye. 

Stark notices and saunters over to the painting, “I just had this lying around, thought it tied the rooms together.”

Walking over to the hall, you almost feel like you can’t breathe as you whisper, “is that a fucking Monet?” You didn’t really have to ask, you would be able to place those water lilies anywhere. That, and Tony’s blasé comment and stupid smirk says it all. 

Without answering your rhetorical question, Tony puts his hand on the small of your back and leads you along. Words completely escape you as you enter your roomy kitchen, triple the size of the one you have now. He pushes you along to your new office with a sturdy oak desk and a cliché chaise lounge for your clients to rest on. Your bedroom is simply decorated besides the king-sized bed and the cutest vintage vanity. Finally, Tony leads you into your en suite. There’s a spacey glass shower in addition to a beautiful soaker tub underneath a skylight. 

He is beginning to make a suggestive comment about the clear shower doors, but is interrupted by his phone going off. “Hold on doc, I have to take this,” he says as he walks out of the room and you think you hear him greet Pepper.

You rest your hands on the porcelain sink and look at yourself in the mirror. Cheeks still flushed from crying and your mascara is clumped under the noticeable bags under your eyes. It has been a day of ups and downs and both your body and mind are exhausted. You open the bathroom cupboard to find tons of sample bottles of hair, skin care, and other beauty products. Picking one randomly, you wash your face in your new sink, then return to your bedroom. As you are opening drawers and finding some clothes that Pepper must have bought, you think about the box of things in the hallway. 

It suddenly dawns on you just how quickly they had that box ready and waiting for you. S.H.I.E.L.D works _too_ fast. It could have only been minutes between Bucky attacking the security guard and you walking out of the elevator. They must have cleaned out your office and revoked your keycard privileges while you were all eating. That outing was also something that Fury put on the schedule. Something in your mind clicks and you yell, “ _Son of a-_ “

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me comments/kudos/bookmarks, I thrive off of them… Sorry Bucky wasn’t in this chapter, but Reader had to have some time to think and to introduce you to the next main set of the story.  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

You tuck a stray strand of hair back into your ballcap while you tighten your grip on the handle of the service cart in front of you. Green eyes meet yours and you give a slight nod to your partner in crime: The Black Widow. She smirks back at you and coyly unbuttons the top section of her silky blouse. Her skirt is far too short, and her heels are far too tall, but she knows what she’s doing. She enters S.H.I.E.L.D Tower with confidence and you wait a couple of minutes before pushing your cart in after her. 

Thank goodness she recently bleached her hair, or else the security guard monitoring the video feeds could have recognized her signature red locks. Once you’re inside the building, you make a straight shot for the elevator. You hold your breath as you scan the keycard Tony hacked for you, and let out a sigh of relief as it is accepted. The elevator doors close slowly enough for you to see Natasha leaning against the security guard’s desk, his attention completely on her. 

Heart racing in anticipation, you wait patiently for the doors to reopen on a familiar floor. Once they do, you push your cart into the empty hallway. Natasha specifically chose this Sunday afternoon for the lack of security, and has instructed you to act like you belong. It is incredibly difficult for you to not constantly look around for threats, as you approach the room at the end of the hallway. Your hand is shaking as you scan the keycard once more and push the door open with your hip, pulling the cart inside.

The Winter Soldier is sitting on the side of his bed, with his slumped back facing you. Why does your heart stop when you see him? He doesn’t move an inch, even when the door closes behind you. Glancing quickly around the room, you notice a newly installed camera in the corner, and move quickly to recover a maintenance uniform hidden in your cart. You rush to his bedside and kneel in front of him. Placing the clothes in his lap, your hands quickly reach up to his cheeks. He instinctively grabs your wrists roughly. 

“Bucky, it’s me, I’m here,” you say as you look into his glazed over eyes. He blinks a couple of times, before his grip on your wrists loosen in recognition. You smile up at him and it feels like he presses his stubble ridden face into your palms.

With a quick stroke of your thumb, you get back on your feet and glance at the camera. He follows your eyeline, then looks back at you and says, “Are you breaking me out again?”

A grin spreads across your lips as you answer, “Yes.”

Thankfully, Bucky doesn’t need any further explanation, he seems to know exactly what to do. You return to the door and watch the hallway as he hastily changes into the clothes you smuggled in. Once he’s by your side, peeking into the hallway, you reach into the cart and hand him a ballcap that matches yours. A small smile strains his mouth, like he hasn’t used those muscles in the week you’ve been planning this breakout. 

The hallway is clear, so you push your service cart out and head back to the elevator, the doors still open and waiting for you. Bucky does the same thing he did the past two times you walked to the elevator with him; he walks quietly and closely behind you. So close it makes your heart feel like it’s about to beat out of your chest. You shake your head a little, attributing your excessive heartrate to the adrenaline as you reach the elevator doors. 

You can practically feel how tense Bucky is behind you, as the elevator begins its descent. Knowing there is a security camera in the elevator, and praying that Nat is doing her job at distracting the guard, you reach behind you and gently take Bucky’s human hand. You try not to focus on how big and rough it is as you bring it up to replace yours on the handle of the cart. 

“Follow my lead,” you whisper in a low voice as you reluctantly release his hand. He doesn’t answer you, but shadows you out of the elevator as it comes to a stop on the ground floor. Bucky only pushes the cart with one arm, as his metal hand is shoved into the pocket of the jumpsuit. 

Instead of exiting the building immediately, you taper off towards some trashcans. Bucky obediently follows you, and you dump the bags into the cart. As you are throwing the last bag in, a throaty, fake laugh draws your attention. You catch a glimpse of Natasha perched on the corner of the guard’s desk, head thrown back while laughing up a joke that was probably not very funny. The security guard looks completely enamored as his eyes dart between her full lips and prominent cleavage. Her blouse seems to have lost more buttons, and you smile a little to yourself before you grab the front of the cart and pull it towards the doors. Bucky releases his grip and trails behind you out of the building.

As soon as you’re both outside, and the door has closed all the way behind you, red wisps of energy engulf the service cart. Bucky looks a little startled and takes a step back. The cart is moved away from sight, presumably to the alley as planned. You start to walk forwards, then look behind you to see Bucky’s hesitation. Quickly, you take his hand again and start walking to the edge of the sidewalk. 

As a yellow taxi pulls up, you catch sight of Wanda, sitting on a motorcycle, with one helmet strapped to her head, and another sitting on her lap. She gives you a small wave as her hand produces red energy to open the car door for you. You can’t help but smile at her while Bucky gets into the cab. Following behind him, Wanda closes the door for you as well. You look out the window and see Natasha stride out of S.H.I.E.L.D Tower and over to the motorcycle Wanda is on. The only reason the younger woman came along was in case Natasha’s old-fashioned way of distraction failed, and Wanda’s mind warping powers were needed.

“So,” an acquainted voice brings your attention back and you turn to look at Sam, sitting in the driver’s seat, “where to?”

You smile widely at him and respond, “Anywhere but here.”

Through the idle chit chat during the cab ride back to the Avengers Compound, you don’t notice that your hand is still resting in Bucky’s until Sam brings the car to a stop. He pulls his hand away from yours to open his door and climb out. A blush tints your cheeks in realization of how long he let you hold onto him and you sit in the taxi a few seconds longer in embarrassment. You utter Sam a quick goodbye and thank you as you get out and head towards the compound’s guard station.

While rolling down his window, Sam yells, “Hey, where’s my tip?”

You laugh and wave at him, “Tell Dopinder I say hi!”

The man grumbles a response you can’t quite catch, and drives away. Turning back to Bucky, you see him lifting his metal hand to remove the baseball cap. You do the same and watch him carefully examine what he can see of the Avenger’s Compound. The wind blows through his hair and his chest rises and falls, taking deep breaths of the fresh air. Every time he’s outside it’s like he’s experiencing it for the first time. You have no idea how many years upon years he must have been stuck in cryo-sleep or confined to a cell with HYDRA. 

Clearing your throat a little to get his attention, you walk ahead, knowing he will follow you. During the walk to the living quarters, Bucky returns to his position right behind you, so devastatingly close. You catch a glimpse of his focused expression, trying to memorize every inch of the compound, catching every possible threat. Upon entering the building, you toss your hat and spent keycard onto a nearby table and look around.

The plan was for Steve to be here to help Bucky acclimate to his new surroundings, but you didn’t see any sign of him. Figuring he’s still in his room, you ascend the staircase to the upper level, Bucky never straying more than a foot away from you. Captain America’s room is conveniently right next to yours, so you walk past your door to knock on his. 

The hum of a vacuum can be heard through the wood, so you knock a little more forcefully. The sound stops, and the door swings open to reveal Steve, grinning widely. He touches your shoulder in greeting, then embraces his old friend. Bucky drops his hat he was holding to pat him on the back.

Steve releases the other man and turns back to you to say, “Glad to see it went well!”

You smile at him and nod in response. Bucky speaks before you get a chance to, “So this is where you live?”

Steve pushes his door open further to allow Bucky to get a better look into his living room, “It’s where you live too, for now at least.” The blond gives his friend a slap on the shoulder and returns to his room, hastily putting his vacuum cleaner away. You scoop up the hat Bucky dropped and begin to take some steps backwards towards your own room, as Steve was to take over at this point in the plan. 

Bucky tears his focus away from his new surroundings to lock eyes with yours, like he’s silently asking you a question, causing you to stop mid-step. You awkwardly gesture behind you, to your suite and say, “That’s my room.”

His eyes dart towards your unassuming door then back to you. His stare is intense, and it makes your chest feel tight. You offer the familiar words you’ve said to him so many times under different circumstances, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hey,” he finally speaks, loud enough to keep you from retreating completely into your room. He runs his metal hand through his hair, only for his wavy locks to fall back onto his face as you wait patiently for him to finish his thought. He focuses all of his attention back onto you and quietly says, “Thank you.”

Heart fluttering, you can’t help but smile and you also can’t help but ask, “Do you trust me now?”

His doesn’t blink or hesitate as he answers, “Completely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/kudos/bookmarks fuel me, and I love interacting with you guys!  
> SO, Dopinder gave you his card last chapter, now Deadpool’s taxi driver is yours too! Also, I literally can’t handle how cute Wanda would be wearing a helmet??? And Steve doing domestic things like vacuuming??? I live for it, expect more dumb things like that, anyways luv you guys <3


	8. Chapter 8

The kettle screams and steam bursts from its spout as you sit on a barstool in Steve Rodger’s kitchen. Your chin rests in your hands and your eyes trail the super soldier as he walks to his stovetop and moves the kettle off the burner. He rummages through a packet of tea bags and asks, “What flavor do you want?”

You sigh and answer, “Earl Grey,” simply because you know it has caffeine. Steve nods and pours the boiling water into a mug, adding the bag and sliding it over to you. You put a copious amount of sugar into it and stir the mixture absentmindedly. 

“So,” he begins, leaning back against his counter and crossing his arms, “is this about Bucky?”

With another sigh, you push your mug away and put your head down on the kitchen island in defeat. Bucky has been in the compound for a week now, and you still feel like you hadn’t quite broken through the wall he has built around himself. Just because he said he trusts you doesn’t mean the floodgates are suddenly going to open. Currently, he is getting his metallic arm looked at by some of Stark’s technicians, so you took this chance to confide in his best friend. 

“That bad, huh?” Steve voices as he leans over and rests his arms on the kitchen island as well, to be level with you.

Your head shoots back up and the words pour out of you, “It’s not that he’s doing badly, but he’s not doing _well_ either. This is the happiest I have ever seen you, and then he just sits there expressionless. Don’t you notice that? I just feel like there’s something I’m not doing. It feels like it’s on the tip of my tongue, but I haven’t figured it out yet.”

Once your rant is finished you allow yourself a sip of your tea. Steve just blinks at you, feeling a little stupid for not noticing how he was projecting his feelings onto Bucky. You just look at the blond with a frown, searching his face for the answer you know isn’t there. 

You open your mouth to say something else, but Steve’s front door opens and shuts with a bang. Clearing your throat, you turn away from Steve, and he quickly returns to standing up straight as Bucky walks into the kitchen. He frowns and his eyes flicker between the two of you, both looking a little guilty. 

“Making house calls?” he mutters at you and goes to open the fridge, but only scans it for a second before closing it. 

Narrowing your eyes, you try to understand why there was a hint of malice in his words. Steve laughs awkwardly then answers, “(Y/N) ran out of tea.”

“Yeah,” you say, going along with the story, “I got hooked while I was in England.” 

Bucky’s grip on the fridge handle tightens for a second before he releases it and looks back at Steve, “Are we still going to the gym this morning?”

“Uh, yes,” Steve glances at you, then back to his friend, “I’m ready to go now if you are.”

“There’s a gym?” you ask, perking up a little. Being everyone’s psychologist and planning Bucky’s breakout meant that you hadn’t had the time to look around the compound yet.

Steve shoots you a smile and gestures towards himself and Bucky, “We can show you where it is, if you want to join us?”

A grin spread across your lips and you hop off of the stool, abandoning your tea. Steve takes that as an obvious yes and walks out of his kitchen, leading the way as he usually does. You follow him happily, and although Bucky seems indifferent at best towards your accompaniment, he shadows you as he always does. 

The three of you exit the living quarters and venture into an adjacent building, labeled: Training. Of course, Stark has installed the best of the best training equipment, including a pool. Your eyes dart wildly around the building as you walk with the super soldiers to a large room. There is a row of exercise machines lined up against the wall, and a huge sparring mat covering the rest of the room. 

You spot Natasha, just getting off a treadmill and patting her forehead with a small towel. Leaving the men, you go to greet her. She looks up and smiles when she sees you, pulling out her earbuds and stuffing them in the pocket of her hoodie. “Hey!” she begins, and eyes the soldiers behind you, giving them a wave as she continues, “glad to see you finally left your room.”

Steve politely returns her wave and calls from across the room, “Hey Nat, hope we aren’t interrupting.”

“Oh no, Cap,” she says with a devilish smirk, “I just ran five miles, uphill both ways, in the snow, you know, like you used to.” 

“Ha ha,” he responds to her quip at his age and turns back to Bucky. They both remove their sweatshirts and shoes and walk onto the mat.

Natasha’s interest is piqued as she watches them and puts her hand on your arm. “Are they going to fight?” Also watching the two men, you nod when you see Steve bring his fists up. “Oh my god,” she says as she pulls you to a bench along the wall, “I have to see this.”

The super soldiers are in sweatpants and Steve is donned in his ridiculously tight, white shirt he wears all the time. Bucky is in a more appropriately sized black t-shirt, one that Pepper ordered with other basic sets of clothing for him when he arrived. Glancing at Natasha, you can see how badly she wants to further tease Cap for his choice of attire, but she holds her tongue to watch them spar. 

They are both about the same size, but Steve has one or two inches on Bucky, because of his long legs, and a smaller waist. Alternatively, Bucky has much broader shoulders and thicker thighs. The only major thing setting them apart right now is Bucky’s metal arm that he raises along with his human one and closes his hands into fists. At first, Bucky’s face is set in determination, but his focus melts away as Steve grins stupidly. 

“Remember when we would scrap as kids?” Steve says through his smile, and the corners of Bucky’s lips twitch up in remembrance. “It always ended in you putting me in a headlock-“ Steve starts.

“-And messing up your hair until your asthma kicked in,” Bucky finishes. He flexes his metal limb and smirks at his friend, “Bet I could still get you in one.”

“Oh, I’d like to see you try,” Steve jokes, as he rushes towards the other man, aiming at his waist to bring him crashing down to the mat. With a grunt, Bucky flips him and easily gets his metal arm loosely around his neck, with no intention of truly fighting. As they both try to mess up each other’s hair, Natasha scoffs next to you. 

She begins to get up and grumble, “This is no fun at all.” Her green eyes glance at the clock above where you are sitting, and she voices, “Don’t we have an appointment in an hour?”

Bucky remembers what Steve said about the past, and you see the two men acting like little kids, play wrestling. They look so happy, not even caring that you and Nat are in the same room. The gears in your mind are shifting and you don’t even hear what Natasha is saying.

“Hello?” she says a little louder and snaps her fingers in front of your eyeline.

“What? Oh,” you shake your head and get up quickly, already heading towards the exit, “Nat, I’m so sorry but I have to cancel, can we see each other tomorrow night?”

The ex-assassin frowns at you in confusion, “Okay?”  
“I’m sorry,” you say again, rushing back to her to give her a quick hug before running out of the door. You are practically sprinting between the buildings and up to your suite. Once you are in your office, you start pulling some textbooks off of the shelves of your mini-library. The next couple of hours are spent reading text and scouring the internet for information. 

You finally have it, the answer to Bucky’s rehabilitation. Feelings of euphoria spread through your whole body and you once again rush out of the room. You burst into Steve’s living room, and find Bucky sitting on the couch, flipping through one of Steve’s old novels.

“Bucky, I did it!” you announce as you go over and grab the book out of his hold, taking his human arm. He lets you pull him off the couch and towards the door without a question, but has a very confused look on his face. You practically drag him into your study and release his arm. Pointing aggressively towards the textbooks strewn across the room, you beam at him.

“What…?” Bucky questions, walking further into the room, being careful not to step on anything.

“You’re touch starved!”

“I’m what?”

“Think about it, until you came back to New York, you didn’t have one positive touch in seventy plus years,” you follow him deeper into your messy office and scoop up a book, handing it to him. “It’s suggested that people need at least seven positive touches a day, it helps children learn and preform better in school, it helps teams grow stronger, it helps form intimate bonds, and it even helps Alzheimer patients.”

His blue eyes quickly scan the text you gave him, and you resume your speech, “I know you do this subconsciously, but whenever we’re together, or you’re with Steve, you always stand so your regular arm is closest to us. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it sooner.”

With a furrowed brow, Bucky hands the textbook back to you, trying to soak your words in. You put the book down on your desk and he self-consciously rubs his metallic arm. Seeing his discomfort, you try to further explain yourself, “I think you have us on your right side because you know that we touch you the most, and you want to be able to feel it when we do.”

“I… don’t know,” he says in a low, unsure voice. You smile warmly at him and take a few steps closer. Gently, you touch his shoulder, and trail down until you’re cupping his elbow. He takes a quick breath in, and watches your fingers as they move down his forearm and intertwine with his. 

His worried expression doesn’t faze you, because he isn’t pulling his hand away, and you continue, “Whenever you’ve been upset, and I’ve touched you, even in the slightest bit, it’s helped. When you ruined your room, and I touched your hand; when you got anxious on the roof and I barely brushed against your knee; and when I came and got you, and I held your face.” Growing bolder, you rest your free hand on his chest, over his heart, “Even now, your heartrate feels fine, even though I can see you’re not buying any of this, and you just worked out.”

You’re a lot closer to him now, and his eyes look even more beautiful up close, distracting you from your train of thought. He mirrors your small smile for a moment, then he breaks his silence, “So, what’s going to happen then?”

Dropping your hand from his chest, you answer, “I’ve never done this before, and I’ll do more research about it, but I’m going to start doing touch therapy with you. I’ll explain everything every step of the way. Touching is very powerful, Bucky, I know it’s going to help you.” After pulling your fingers away from his, you see his hand reach out for yours, only for a split second, confirming your theory further. 

He thinks about what you’ve said, and finally nods in agreement, desperately wanting to feel human again, “Fine, I’ll try it.”

You are so overcome with happiness that laughter escapes your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck. Chest pressed against his, you barely feel it when he puts his hands warily and ever so softly on your waist. Thoughts of selfishly being able to touch Bucky as much as you have been wanting to swirls around your mind as you can feel his heartbeat against yours. There’s a twinge of guilt in the pit of your stomach, but it’s almost immediately placated by the warmth radiating from Bucky’s body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me comments, kudos, and bookmarks because I'll die without them, like Tinkerbell, gotta get that applause  
> This slow burn is starting to heat up~ after 8 chapters the title of this fic finally comes into play, lmao, I had a rough outline of what I wanted it to look like and it has become so much longer than I originally thought


	9. Chapter 9

Touch therapy differs for every individual and there is a process that you must go through to see which positive touches work best for the patient. The past couple of days have been awkward to say at the least, but you have made some progress with the stoic soldier. Bucky has only been able to take half hour sessions as sometimes being touched so intimately overwhelms him. He decidedly likes his human arm and his chest being touched, but if you get too close to where metal meets flesh, he pulls away and shuts down.

You fiddle with the strings of your sweatpants, and look up when your door opens. Bucky comes in, also wearing sweats like you requested. Offering a smile as you speak, you approach him, “Ready for today?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he responds, watching as you take his hand and allowing you to lead him across your living room. You reach your bedroom and he abruptly stops at the threshold, apprehension spread across his face. 

You don’t mean to laugh at him, but you chuckle a little while you explain, “You and Steve are so old fashioned, this is part of your therapy, it’s okay Bucky.”

The hesitation on his face is obvious, but he takes a wary step into your room and looks around. You try to resume heading inside the room, but he is stopped dead. Looking back at him, mouth open, ready to coax him in, you see his wide-eyed expression fixated on something in your room. Following his eyeline, you see he’s staring at your vanity.

You don’t say anything, and it feels like he holds your hand a little tighter you both walk over to it. He releases your hand to touch the wooden top. This means something to him, but you want him to offer the information instead of having to ask for it. You watch him run his fingers over a handle of a drawer, then adjust the frame of the mirror. Looking at his reflection, you see his expression soften and a smile grace his lips.

His blue eyes meet yours in the mirror and in a low voice, he says, “My mom had a desk that looked exactly like this. But, it’s not called a desk, it’s something else.” Eye contact is lost as he closes his in concentration, the word escaping him.

“Vanity,” you offer, not able to take your eyes off of his reflection. He smiles at the familiar word, and nods. You can feel how relaxed his energy is and you love knowing that it came from him being in your room. “Well,” you start, holding your hand out to him, causing him to open his eyes again and look at your outstretched fingers, “shall we continue?” 

Bucky answers by taking your hand, something that has become usual and almost habitual as hand holding is one of the purest forms of intimacy to you. You lead him to your bed and climb on, feeling his fingers squeeze yours as he follows. It’s endearing how nervous he is as you press your hand on his chest, so he’ll lay down. As he lowers, he brings his metal hand behind his head and a wicked smirk spreads across his lips.

You blink a couple of time in confusion, as you hadn’t ever seen this expression on the Winter Soldier. A memory of Steve saying what a lady’s man Bucky used to be crosses your mind and you playfully frown at him, swatting his chest. “Knock it off, it’s not like that,” you say, completely wishing it _was_ like that. 

He shrugs and replies simply, “Old habits.”

“Yeah, very old,” you quip, glad he’s in a playful mood, “now take your shirt off.”

Blue eyes widen and his chest tenses under your palm. “Why?” he practically squeaks out, always needing an explanation before doing anything, most likely from his days of being forced to blindly follow every HYDRA command.

“Skin to skin contact is like the basis of touch therapy. It’s mostly used for infants to physically preform better, cry less, and emotionally bond to their parents, but I don’t see why it can’t be used for adults,” you explain, as you sit up and pull your shirt over your head, leaving you in a tight-fitted, grey tank top. 

Bucky quickly eyes the curves of your body while your head is turned, tossing your shirt over towards your closet. Accepting the explanation, he pulls off his shirt as well, crumpling it and dropping it off the side of the bed. It takes every muscle in your body to keep yourself from staring at his bare chest.

You lower yourself on his right side, resting your head on his shoulder, pressing your chest against his side. His human arm seems frozen as soon as your head hits it, like he doesn’t want to hurt you. He tucks his metallic hand back behind his head again to hide it. The heat exuding from his body feels so nice against your skin, and you want more.

“Come here,” you whisper with a laugh as you reach behind and bring his arm around your body. His huge hand feels like it covers the entire right side of your ribcage. Once his arm is securely around you, your place your hand back onto his chest. He’s breathing a little faster than usual, and you watch your hand rise and fall in time with his breath, knowing his hand is doing the same on your side. 

You stay silent for a while, getting him used to the contact. During your silence, you can feel your breathing and heartrates sync together. Glancing up at him, you see him staring at the ceiling, jaw clenched. 

Biting your lip before speaking, you shift to look up at him. “Is this too much?” you ask in a quiet voice.

His arm immediately tightens around you as he meets your eyes. “No,” he blinks a couple of times, clearing his head before finishing, “it’s just… been a while.” 

“So, do you think this is working?” you ask selfishly, hoping he would say yes just so you could spend more time wrapped in his arms.

“It’s making me feel… sad, but a good kind of sad. Nostalgic,” he answers, looking back up at the ceiling, his jaw loosening with his revelation.

“Then it’s helping with your memory loss?”

“Yes,” he leaves you in silence again, but you can see his eyes boring into the ceiling for answers.

“What are you thinking about?”

“My family.”

You wait patiently for him to continue his thoughts. It’s like you are witnessing the memory return to his mind, and you can feel his body temperature rising, and his heartrate accelerating. There’s a lot of old feelings flooding into his body that’s making him react this way, and his jaw tightens once again, with the saddest look on his face.

“I remember my mom helping me put on my brand new jacket and pack for the first day of school. She hugged me really tightly,” he says as his fingers gently press into your ribs, then he chuckles, “and my sister was mad she couldn’t go to school with me. She latched onto my leg and wouldn’t let go. My dad finally got her off, but it made me late for school.”

You scan his face, watching it relax into a smile as he looks down at you. It’s elating how well touch is working for him, and you absentmindedly stroke his chest with your thumb while you think of ways to expand this therapy. 

“You know,” he says, breaking your concentration, “you don’t talk about yourself as much as you used to.”

“There’s not much to say,” you reply softly, staring into his ocean eyes, that narrow silently at your words. “Fine,” you start, “I was late for my first day of school too.”

“Why?” he laughs making your head shift against his shoulder and your cheeks heat up.

“I missed my school bus, because no one thought to tell me, a first grader, where it was,” you mutter, remembering how you cried as the yellow bus raced passed you all those years ago.

“First grader?” he questions, then answers himself matter of factly, “Oh, you skipped a grade.”

You lift your head completely to look at him, confusion bathing your face, “How did you know that?”

“You gave me your file.”

“You actually read it?”

“Of course,” the eye contact he gives you is too intense, so you tuck some hair behind your ear and rest your head back onto his arm. 

“Hm,” is all you can muster, as you feel a little embarrassed that he read and remembers things from your file. 

His arm loosens around you as he stirs in your bed, trying to get a little more comfortable. You consider that he might be done with touching for today, but his hand returns to your side, and you can feel him mimicking you stroking his chest on the fabric of your tank top. This session has lasted a considerably longer amount of time than usual, and you’re nothing but grateful.

Your mind wanders to future therapy sessions, and your other clients, until you hear a soft snore escape the mouth of the Winter Soldier. Very carefully, you move to look at him. His eyes are closed and his head is tilted to the side, facing away from you. You hadn’t noticed his breathing slow and his body relax into a nap. Settling better into his arm, you think to yourself, _Why not?_ Before you close your eyes and drift off to sleep as well, you give his shoulder an innocent, soft kiss.


	10. Chapter 10

Weeks pass with little issue, Bucky’s therapy is going well. He is adjusting to the 21st century and he is more open about his thoughts and feelings. The only hitch in his therapy is the fact that he still remembers very little of his past. Steve tries to fill it in as best as he can, but you know Bucky needs to feel those memories from his own perspective. As you have observed, it can be physically and emotionally tolling for Bucky to re-live it, whether it be a happy memory of his family or a not so happy one from HYDRA.

Thankfully, he mostly recalls his time before he was drafted during sessions with you. You attribute that to the _positive_ touches and comfortable environment you’ve created with him. As much as it pains you to know, his recovery is uneven, and the fact that he is blocking out most of his memories with HYDRA is keeping him from being himself. Bucky’s true self is no longer the man he was in the 40’s, messing around with Steve and taking girls dancing, but that doesn’t mean his true self is the hardened assassin with blood that will never wash off his hands either. He is the sum of all his parts, not one singular moment defines him, but he won’t be able to accept that without accepting the things he was forced to do.

You finish typing these notes, sitting cross-legged on your couch. The television set in front of you is playing reruns of your favorite show, yet you are hardly paying attention. Sighing, you check the time in the corner of your laptop screen before shutting it and placing it on your coffee table. Your eyes wander to the box next to it as you turn off your television, and your chest feels tight thinking about what’s inside. 

As usual, Stark is able to fulfil any request you have, and that box is one of them. He did complain about how it cost an arm and a leg to be shipped from Wakanda, but he spares no expense for your work. You were able to receive this package just in time for the Avengers to leave on a mission too confidential for you to get any information, although you know you’ll be hearing all about it when they get back. Both you and Steve agreed that Bucky is not ready for combat, and hopefully this session will help that. 

Right on time, your door opens and Bucky steps into your suite, forgoing the courtesy of knocking. You push yourself off the couch and stretch a little as you greet him, “Hi, sleep well without Steve in the apartment?”

“I didn’t really notice,” he states as he meanders over to your side. As you smile and touch his arm, he immediately notices the box on your table. “Is that for me?” he asks with a raised brow.

The smile on your face fades and you pick the hefty box up, holding it out to him. “It’s part of your therapy…” you answer vaguely.

He takes the lid off the box and a pained expression crosses his face while he takes a small step back. In front of him is his old tactical suit, and on top, the mask he wore as the Winter Soldier. He doesn’t even want to touch it, he just looks back at you, asking “What is this?”

“I’m so sorry Bucky, but you need to put it on. You just have to trust me,” you say as you set the box back down on the table.

Blue eyes search your face, your brow scrunched and your lips in a tight line. He doesn’t answer you, and he doesn’t question you, he takes the mask out and lifts up the top. His fingers find tears that were never repaired from the last time he wore it before he slips it on over his grey t-shirt. You step closer to him and start on the many straps on his chest and the holster on his back. The breaths coming from the man in front of you are uneven, and his eyes look glazed over as you finish with the top and hand him the pants. They are equally torn up and dirty, and you turn around to allow him a semblance of privacy as he steps out of his jeans and puts on the thick, black material. 

He finishes buttoning his pants, and you turn back around when you hear him pick up the gun that was at the bottom of the box, along with his boots and glove. “There’s no bullets in it,” you say quietly as he checks the magazine anyways, like a habit. Using his metal hand, he reaches behind his head and attaches the gun to the holster on his jacket. 

After you retrieve the glove, he pulls the worn boots on easily. You don’t even notice how tightly you’re holding this singular glove to your chest until he holds out his metal hand for it. He looks like he is mentally checked out as you pull the glove around his silver knuckles and tighten the straps. It is a rare occurrence for him to let you touch the metal attached to him, so you test how far he’ll let you go by letting your fingers linger. He responds by tightening his around your much smaller hand, and pulling you closer to him. 

You look up at him with wide eyes, as he pulls you flush against him and puts your hand over his heart. The tactical top is much too thick for you to be able to feel his heartbeat, and you can’t feel his chest rise as well as you usually can. 

“What are you feeling?” you ask in a small voice, as you bring your other hand up to his chest as well.

He looks down at you and moves his fingers around your wrists. Slowly, he pulls on your arms, to drag your hands down his chest, until he stops at his waist and says, “Nothing.” 

“Not physically, Bucky,” you correct yourself, trying to coax more out of him.

“Nothing,” he repeats as he releases your hands and takes a step back, out of your reach, “I feel empty.” 

He picks up his mask and attaches it to his face, so you can only see his eyes that have gone dull. Breaking eye contact with you, he looks at something over your head. You turn and catch his eyes once again in the reflection of the mirror hanging on your wall. There’s a sadness on both of your faces in the reflection that makes you feel the need to fight back tears. 

You didn’t ever want to have to see him like this, as you saw the repercussions when you first met him. He looks like the shell of a man, broken, and empty as he said. HYDRA made this tactical suit to fight in and dehumanize him simultaneously. It’s so thick he can hardly feel anything, and the only part that is open is to an arm that can’t feel anything either. If they had been able to recover his goggles, those and the mask make him faceless. Even his hair has been grown out long enough to cover his face and neck when the mask isn’t on. 

Your chest aches, and a few tears roll down your cheeks. Bucky had been staring at himself in the mirror, but once he catches sight of your tears he grabs your arm and turns you around to face him. His metal hand rips off his mask and his human palm cradles the side of your face, thumb stroking away your tears. 

You shake your head and pull his hand away from your face while saying, “I’m okay, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he responds, throwing his mask down. He rips at his suit, breaking the buckles and straps to free himself. You wipe the remaining tears away from your face as you watch him, noticing his flesh hand shaking as he finally gets out of the restraints. Kicking off the boots, he tears the glove off his metal hand and drops his pants down. He is left panting, looking down at the mess of fabric and leather in only his undershirt and briefs. Collapsing onto your couch, he rests his elbows on his thighs and hides his face in his hands.

Sitting down next to him, you put your hand on his back as gently as you can. “What are you feeling?” you ask for the second time.

“Everything,” he says back, voice muffled by his hands. 

Silence is better than words right now, as he needs to process his emotions without interference. You move closer to him on the couch and rest your head against his shoulder, eyeing the mess on your floor. Bucky’s breathing evens out after a while and he finally lifts his head out of his hands to look at you. 

“I’m having nightmares again,” he states, a drained look on his face. 

“I thought they stopped when you came to the compound?” you ask as you lift your head off his shoulder with a frown.

“They did. They just come back when I’m alone. When you’re not here, when everyone else goes on missions.”

You think for a moment before answering, “Stay with me.”

He gives you a small, tired smile and looks back down at the remnants of his suit, “I should clean this up.”

“I’ll do it- don’t ignore me, Bucky. Stay with me,” you voice as you cup his cheek so he’ll look back at you, determination in your eyes.

The color is returning into his steely blue eyes as he finally says, “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos and bookmarks are more than appreciated, they mean so much! Little chapter gearing up for a very important chapter next week!!!   
> Shout out to frequent commenter MicrowavedFairy, who won a surprise oneshot that I posted last week! I will be picking another commenter sometime this week to give a surprise to! The support means everything!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature content warning ahead!

The satin of your nightgown feels refreshing on your skin as you slip it on in the privacy of your walk-in closet. You run your hands down the sides of the soft material that ends barely mid-thigh and feel a sense of embarrassment. It’s the nicest sleepwear you have, and you are already pushing boundaries by having the Winter Soldier sleep in your bed tonight. You are no strangers to sleeping together, but it has always been catnaps from touch therapy sessions. Now you know he fell asleep so easily from the nightmares he is still having. Having him put on his old tactical suit earlier that day will most likely trigger a night terror this evening, and without Steve to comfort him, you want to make sure he’ll be okay. You can feel that you are hyper-rationalizing, but you can’t bring yourself to stop.

Water is running in your bathroom and you can hear the sound of Bucky brushing his teeth. It’s a strange sight to see as you step out of your closet. Bucky’s hair is half pulled into a bun, chest bare, and his pajama pants hang low on his hips. It feels so normal and you barely take your eyes off of him as you go to your bed and pull down the covers. You climb onto the right side, sitting on your knees, watching the man in your bathroom. 

Bucky spits out the toothpaste and pulls the band out of his hair. As he walks to his side of the bed, you can see him eyeing you, sitting there in that thin satin, and a smirk appears on his lips. You lay back and turn to your side to watch him climb into your huge bed. He moves towards you and turns on his side as well. His blue eyes search your face as he continues to move closer, seeing what you’re comfortable with, as you usually fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Knowing his night terrors will most likely wake both of you in the next few hours, you reach out and take his human hand in yours. You smile sweetly and reassure him, “It’s okay, I’ll be here.”

He loosely intertwines his fingers with yours, and strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, “I know.”

“FRIDAY, please turn off the lights,” you order the AI, and the lights immediately dim.

“Done, goodnight Ms. (L/N) and Mr. Barnes,” the female Irish voice responds, and your room is bathed in moonlight. It takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust, but you can see Bucky’s outline. You watch his breaths become increasingly slower, and you feel his hand slack against yours. Sleep always comes easy to him in your bed.

It takes much longer for you to finally drift away, anxiety about his upcoming nightmare keeping you up. You only get an hour of sleep in before you wake to Bucky ripping his hand away from yours to turn over forcefully, quaking the whole bed. 

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you watch his figure with sleepy eyes. It looks like he’s beginning to shake, and you can hear how fast his breathing has gotten. “N-no, no,” he whimpers in his dream that must be contorting into terror. It pains you to know that he has to wake up naturally, riding out the nightmare until the end. 

You can hardly hear his low voice as he continues to talk, “D-Don’t make me do it.” He sounds almost childlike, his subconscious resorting to deep regression to comprehend the things he’s done. His fists ball up the sheets underneath him, and you move to his side to stroke some hair out of his face. His skin feels cold under your fingertips and you sigh softly.

Suddenly, he jerks up, eyes open wide, yelling “ _No, no!_ ” In a swift movement, not registering that he’s awake, he twists and brings his metal fist crashing into your headboard, making you jump. The moonlight flooding in, washing over Bucky’s face, allows you to see his confused, pale expression as he removes metal from wood. 

Sitting up, you crawl to him, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring his head to your shoulder. He quickly envelopes your torso in his arms, his human hand sticky from sweat clings to your nightgown, and you can feel the cold metal of his other hand through the fabric. Your fingers run through his hair and his breath feels hot and uneven against your shoulder.

“W-Why did they have to pick me?” he whispers into your skin and your eyes well up as he pulls you closer to his shaking body, “I wish they had just let me die.”

“Oh, Bucky,” you breathe into his hair, he has you pulled so closely you’re in his lap, legs straddling his thighs. As you cradle his head against your chest, you continue with a hitch in your breath and the first tear rolls down your face, “What would I do without you?”

He lifts his head and looks deeply into your eyes as he counters, “What do you mean?”

You take his cheeks into your hands and smile as more tears escape you, “When I first saw you, I knew you were the most handsome man I had ever seen, and you made me feel something I had never felt before. You make me feel it every time I see you. Every time I touch you.”

“(Y/N)…” his arms feels so tight around you as he says your name. Your chests are pressed together, and your faces are only inches apart. 

Feeling weak, you realize that you’re the one that’s shaking now, and the tears aren’t stopping as you say, “I-I just can’t do anything about it, and I’ve pushed the boundaries way more than I should have. Y-You’re my patient, you’re supposed to be able to trust me, n-not-“ 

In an instant, his lips are pressed softly into yours, hands bunching up your nightgown. You instinctively tilt your head to deepen the kiss, then pull away with a gasp. The tightness in your chest and the lingering sensation on your lips overwhelms you as you choke out, “W-We can’t.”

“(Y/N),” he repeats, “you’re the only thing that makes me feel real, that makes me feel human.”

“That’s my job!” you sob, tears dripping onto the satin, salt staining the fabric.

“You know it’s so much more than that,” his voice is hardened, and his fingertips are pressing into your ribcage, like he’s afraid if he lets go he’ll never get to hold you again. 

His icy stare is too intense, just as it was the first day you met, and you squeeze your eyes shut to contain your crying. You can feel his soft lips press against your salty cheeks, the hot skin of his chest against yours, and the metal of his arm cooling your back. Saying no to the man in your arms is the hardest thing you’ve ever put your aching heart through. But, the unspoken feelings have already been freed tonight, and there is no going back now.

As he kisses another spot on your drying cheeks, you turn your head to catch his lips in yours, sealing your fate. You run your fingers through his hair, tangling them in his chestnut locks. Not wanting to pull away, you both breathe heavily out of your noses, the hot air completely erasing the tears from your face. You’ve made your decision and you’re going to run with it, run with him.

Your hands leave his hair and move to his forearms, pushing gently so his big hands drag down to the hem of your sleepwear. His fingers sneak underneath the satin and move up the curves of your hips, eliciting a short gasp against your mouth when he doesn’t feel anything underneath your pajamas. He plants his metal hand firmly on your hips, to keep your pressed against his lap, while his other explores the places he has yet to touch.

Bucky is the one to separate from your lips as he pulls the satin over your head and throws the flimsy thing off the bed. The moonlight only reaches half his face, but you can see his lust blown pupils and red, kiss swollen lips. He has never looked so good, and although you’re naked in front of him, he’s staring deeply into your eyes. You take this opportunity to lean down and hook your fingers into the waistband of both his pajama pants and briefs underneath. 

Lowering the clothing antagonizing slow, his metal arm never leaves your hips. Once eye contact is lost he takes in your moonlit form, and you can feel it. Your already heated cheeks darken again as you look up at him from your compromising position. Peppering kisses against his taught stomach, gaining some groans from the man. You completely pull down his clothes, throwing them to the ground as he did to yours.

As soon as he’s free from the fabric that was getting too tight, his hands cover your curves and pulls you back into the warmth of his body. He lays loving kisses down your neck and across your collarbone, the scratch of his stubble makes your skin all the more sensitive. One of your hands rests over his heart, and the other grasps his bicep for balance as the position he has put you in arches your back further than normal.

You can feel metal drag down from your hips to wrap around the back of your thigh, gently urging you to spread your legs a little further. You suck in a breath as cool air hits the sensitive area between your thighs. Bucky lifts his head from your neck and you give him a reassuring smile, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. The usual ice blue of his eyes is just a ring around his dilated pupils, and you know yours must look the same. He stares at you, unblinking, with parted lips, and you think to yourself how no one has ever looked at you like this before. 

While gazing into his eyes, you finally lower yourself completely onto him, completely into you. The pleasure overtakes his face, and you think you hear him groan your name, but you can’t be sure. Your ears are ringing, and all of your other senses are equally as overwhelmed as he fills you in the most satisfying way possible. The nerve endings of your fingertips feel like they’re on fire against Bucky’s hot skin. 

You roll your hips and lock your lips against his as he moans, a sound coming deep from his throat that makes you smile at what you’re doing to him. His human hand reaches up to your bare shoulder and he drags his fingers all the way down to your backside. It feels like burning the whole way down and his own hips are bucking up to meet the rhythm of yours.

Every kiss, touch, and movement are so incredibly slow and deliciously tantalizing. It makes the build-up so much better, and the quiet, wanton moans filling your room are proof. The way he moves his lips against yours, the feeling of his hair brushing against your cheeks, and how incredibly close he holds you to his body makes your chest swell with happiness. 

You quicken the pace to chase the tightness coiling in your core, threatening to release. Bucky grunts into your mouth at the change of sensation, and you are at the edge. You part your lips from his with a heavy breath, throwing your head back and whispering his name. His hand quickly comes up to the back of your neck, to tilt your head forwards. His eyes immediately locking with yours, you realize he wants to see it, to see you come undone and succumb completely to him. He doesn’t have to wait long, as pleasure courses through your body, from your flushed cheeks to your curling toes. His finish follows yours, his kissed-raw lips parting, a guttural moan, and his hands pressing further into your skin.

Panting, you stay pressed together, your eyes sparkling and sweaty skin glistening in the moonlight. His heart is beating out of his chest under your palm, and you can’t help but smile blissfully in your afterglow. Bucky kisses your jawline and brings the hand that was resting behind your neck into your hair before he pulls back to gaze at you again. 

The words that come out of his rosy lips next take you by surprise, “There’s something I need to show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever stop ending chapters on dialogue? "No."  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the smut, back in my day, we used to call these lemons… hope you enjoy the pure, vanilla, loving sex, but remember to always use protection and go to the bathroom right afterwards!  
> Please leave comments, kudos, and bookmarks so I can get the attention I crave.


	12. Chapter 12

The wind rushes across your face and the adrenaline makes you close your eyes, smiling at the breeze, hair flowing behind you. You and Bucky are racing towards the city on Steve’s vintage motorcycle, the loud machinery probably waking up everyone along the route. With arms wrapped securely around Bucky’s broad chest, you feel safe and free. He revs the engine as you hit another straight roadway, as if he’s racing the sunrise.

It’s almost 5:30 am, and the sky is starting to lighten, just as it was when you took him to the tower rooftop all those months ago. Everything you pass is a blur, going too fast for your eyes to register and the sky is still too dark. You have no idea where you are going, Bucky not giving any hints, but it feels like you’re headed towards Brooklyn. 

The city is just waking up as you ride through it. You hit many glowing red traffic lights, but there’s enough room on the road for Bucky to weave hastily between cars. You sit up as straight as you can to rest your chin against the back of his shoulder, managing to get a glimpse of his view for a bit. Definitely heading towards his old stomping grounds. 

Once he reaches the desired borough, he continues speeding through, down to the waterfront near the Brooklyn Bridge. A beautiful water view park comes into your vision, and Bucky slows the motorcycle down. He finds a parking spot with ease as this section of the park is mostly empty. Once he turns off the loud machine and has his feet firmly planted on the ground, he pulls off his helmet, shaking out his hair. You gingerly put one foot down to steady yourself, cautiously releasing the strap under your chin and running a hand through your squished hair.

He climbs off the vehicle first, quickly wrapping his arms around your waist, lifting you off as well. You laugh as he does so, pressing your hands against his covered chest. He chose a rusty red, thick Carhart jacket paired with black jeans that hug in all the right places, and a pair of black combat boots. After he sets you back down with a grin, he smooths your military green coat and kisses your forehead. 

You tug on the collar of his jacket with a single hand as you look around, asking, “Is this what you needed to show me?”

“Kind of,” he says as he takes your cheek in his hand for a fleeting moment, before he drags it down your arm to intertwine your fingers with his. 

Looking at him wordlessly, he tilts his head towards the water before leading you down a grassy hill. The morning dew clings to your shoes and the air is comfortably cool so close to the water. The Brooklyn Bridge stands massively before you on the left, and to your right is the Manhattan Bridge. You hold onto Bucky’s arm as you gaze up at them, switching your view with every step. He keeps his hand tightly around yours until you reach the cement of a walkway. After walking to the ledge above the river, he lets go of your hand to lean his back against the iron guard rail. You breathe in deeply before you rest your forearms on the rail, staring out over the water. 

The temptation is too much, and Bucky is unable to keep his hands off of you for more than a moment. He snakes his arm around the front of your rib cage and pulls you closer to him. Tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear as gently as he can with his metal hand, his eyes run over every feature of your face before softly kissing your cheek.

You haven’t stopped smiling since getting on the back of that motorcycle, and you gaze into his light blue eyes as the sun rises in the east. “So,” you start, “why here?”

“It’s between the bridges, darlin’,” he says, matching your smile.

“So it is,” you whisper as you turn your head to watch the Manhattan Bridge be swallowed by the bright sun.

Bucky’s eyes refuse to leave your face, and he strokes your side with his thumb as he beings talking, “My father used to take me here.”

Your head twists with curious eyes as he begins to talk about his father and he continues, “On one of my parent’s first dates, they walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, and he tried to be romantic by proposing to my ma on that same bridge, but he was so nervous he accidentally took her to the Manhattan.

“So this spot between the bridges is where he would take me and Rebecca after my mom died,” his voice grows small, and he finally breaks eye contact with you to look at the water over his shoulder, “I think he was trying to get us interested in the architecture. He was worried about how I wanted to be in the army like him.”

“You followed in his footsteps anyways,” you voice quietly, not wanting him to stop talking, but knowing that it’s probably getting hard for him to relive these memories. 

He lets out a low chuckle and finishes with, “I guess I did.”

“Wait, your sister’s name is Rebecca?” you question as you pull your phone out of your pocket, “Rebecca Barnes?”

“Yeah?” his voice is laced with confusion as he watches you type her name into your phone.

“That name is familiar,” you wait as the search engine loads the results, then grin in satisfaction, handing your phone over to Bucky’s metal hand, “She did become an architect, she helped design some of these New York high rises.”

His lips are in a tight line as he reads about his sister, and a tear rolls down his cheek, getting lost in his stubble before it can fall. 

“Bucky,” you say softly as you rotate against his arm, resting your hand over his heart. Scrolling through the biography, the corners of his lips turn up into a small smile. After he’s done, he simply hands your phone back and looks out at the Brooklyn horizon. You slip it into your pocket and watch his face carefully. He seems at peace, knowing that his baby sister had a full and happy life, yet his tense brow indicates he wishes he had been there to see it. 

The sun has risen enough to be considered daylight, and people are filling into the park. A group of women are setting up yoga mats to exercise, and dog owners are walking the path with their pets in tow. The man next to you shifts his weight and you realize he hasn’t been out in the public since returning from Wakanda. In a swift movement, he’s standing behind you, arm still around your waist and the other resting on the railing. You gladly accept his warmth and lean back against him, watching the boats travel down the river. 

You can feel that Bucky is on the edge of his metaphorical seat being surrounded by all these strange, unfamiliar civilians. His arms tighten around your torso every time someone comes up to the railing to admire the view. Unbeknownst to him, all the passersby see are two lovers embracing on an early New York morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments, kudos, and bookmarks are greatly appreciated for this kind of intermission chapter!  
> I know nothing of New York City, I’m from Seattle, I tried my best and took a nice little Google Maps street view walk along Empire Fulton Ferry Park to be as accurate as possible.  
> 


	13. Chapter 13

The following days are like heaven with you and Bucky spending every waking moment together, then falling asleep in each other’s arms. However, there’s a countdown that comes with the bliss. The Avengers are due back tomorrow and you can feel the pressure building. It’s making you lose your concentration as you try to get some work done on your laptop. 

You’re sitting on your bed, in nothing but one of Bucky’s shirts, with your computer sitting on your thighs. Bucky is laying down next to you, arm around your stomach, and catching up on sleep that you two have been missing most nights. The blinking line and blank page on your computer screen gets into your head and you shut your laptop with an annoyed sigh. You are supposed to be working on your next book, but your head is full of other thoughts.

The man next to you stirs out of his nap as you set your laptop on the nightstand. His arm tightens around your waist to pull you closer to his bare chest. “I’m sorry,” you say, distracted, “did I wake you up?”

“It doesn’t matter, come here,” he urges, but stops as he feels your resistance, “What’s wrong?”

“They’re coming back tomorrow.”

The man sits up to be at your eye level and retorts, “So?”

“So,” you try to choose your next words carefully, knowing in your heart that no matter how you say it, it won’t sound good. “How am I… How are _we_ going to explain this?” you gesture at your bare thighs and the messed sheets. 

His posture stiffens and with a scrunched brow, he rests back against his metal hand, pulling his other arm away from you. The lack of warmth almost makes your stomach ache. He’s looking deeply in your eyes for more answers, so you tilt your head away from his view. “Is it Steve?” he asks, completely shocking you into meeting his icy gaze again. 

You let out a short laugh before asking, “Why would you say that?”

“You didn’t answer me.”

“I don’t know, a little bit. It’s about everyone.”

“I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable,” he brushes his fingers against your thigh, “but I can tell there’s something.”

It feels like there’s metal on your tongue, stinging the insides of your cheeks. Your relationship with Steve was different than the rest of the Avengers and you feel like you owe his best friend and your new lover clarification. “It’s always been different with him Bucky, he was my first patient, ever. I think we play an important role in each other’s lives. And…” you hesitate before continuing, knowing that it’s going to upset Bucky. 

His blue eyes boring into you urge you to keep going, though you shift against your mattress with unease. “When I went to England, when the Sokovian Accords were being discussed, Peggy Carter passed away,” he nods as he remembers the beautiful brunette from the 1940s. 

“Steve went to her funeral, and he stayed with me. He was so upset, he knew you were out there, but he couldn’t find you, and his other link to his past was gone. It was so much for him, and…” your fists ball up the sheet as you speak, “he kissed me. We kissed.”

Bucky is silent for a while, before simply saying, “Hm,” and pressing back against the headboard of your bed. He can’t fault his best friend, as he’s in the same circumstances right now. 

Surprised at his reaction, you explain further, “His feelings were misplaced, he would have never done that if he hadn’t just come from Peggy’s funeral, the Sokovian Accords weren’t pressuring him, and if he didn’t know you were still out there. I stopped it right away, it would have been inappropriate for me to take advantage of him like that,” You feel like you want to say more, but that twist of guilt in your stomach is back, and there’s a tightness in your throat that constricts with every swallow. It suddenly clicks that this was almost an identical situation, except that you encouraged it, you initiated it. Steve wasn’t the only one projecting his feelings onto the man who was just trying to recover. The panic of your realization spreads throughout your body and doom envelopes you as you know what you have to do.

Your breathing becomes irregular and Bucky leans forward and puts a hand on your back to steady you. “What’s wrong?” he asks, the hint of insecurity he was feeling disappears into worry for your sudden physical change.

“I… I shouldn’t have done this to you, I knew it was wrong with Steve, and I put an end to it, b-but I didn’t stop with you,” you look over at the man next to you, who is frowning with confusion. His hand stops rubbing comforting circles on your back and his eyes go wide, realizing the gravity of what you’re trying to say. 

“What the hell do you mean, (Y/N)?” the force of his voice surprises you, as you expected him to shut down like he usually does, not to fight back. He knows exactly what you’re implying. You know you have the most shame-stricken expression right now, and you can’t even meet the eyes that are following your movements. As you climb out of your bed, you pull on whatever pants are closest and exchange Bucky’s shirt for one of your own.

“I-I think we need to end this, whatever it is. I took it way too far,” you choke out as he stands. His large, shirtless figure looms over you, but you avoid his eyes and shove his shirt against his chest. 

His hands are in fists, and you can see his human arm tensing with anger as he argues, “No, why are you saying this?”

“I-I shouldn’t have said anything that night, I crossed the line. If this was a regular job I’d be fired and disgraced,” you try to take a step back from him, but his metal hand catches your wrist. His human fingers go to your neck, pressing up on your chin to make you meet his eyes, darkened and frightening.

You expect him to say something, to keep fighting back because of the fire in his eyes. Instead, he presses his lips forcefully against yours. You try to turn your head away, but his finger press into your jaw to keep you there. Those pouty lips moving against yours are too tempting to resist, and you give in, kissing him back. You grab his forearm, digging your nails into him while you pull his hand away from your throat. The way you’re touching each other is drastically different from the past couple of days. It hurts. There’s red marks from where he grabs you, you leave crescents on his bare skin from your nails, and it hurts you both to your core. 

The guilt overwhelms you, it makes you sick to your stomach. Guilt from letting yourself feel this way about a patient, guilt from giving in to your body, guilt from trying to right your wrongs too little too late. You’re about to pull away, and you take your hands off his body just as he releases you. It’s almost poetic, the sudden lack of touch, just standing there inches apart, panting to catch your breath.

It's like all he wanted was one last kiss. Taking the shirt from your grasp, he’s careful to not touch you. The shutdown of emotion begins as he pulls the fabric over his head and winces because it smells like you. His blue eyes glaze over as he looks at you. Tears are flowing silently down your cheeks, and you once again avert eye contact. 

“(Y/N),” his voice is soft, the passion and anger are gone as he addresses you with a final plea, “Don’t do this.”

You shake your head and your lip trembles, “I have to.”

He sighs, and he touches his chest, the spot where you always rest your hand, over his heart. The last bit of emotion he can muster before his mind completely closes off as a self-defense mechanism is, “I love you.” 

Your heart tears at his words, and you can taste the salt of your tears as you speak, your voice harsh, “You don’t love me, Bucky. Y-You’d have this misplaced attachment for anyone who rehabilitated you, it just happened to be me.” 

He stares at you blankly, there’s nothing left for him to say because no matter what comes out of his mouth, you have clearly made up your mind. You know it’s the right thing to do, to free him from this distorted bond you created, but it aches. Your body feels like it’s dying, and your heart is screaming for him. Bucky reaches out for you, but he catches himself, and closes his hand into a tight fist. 

Suddenly, he’s out of your room, and you’ve never felt so empty and alone. It feels like a break-up, but between who? The psychologist and the patient, the man and the woman, or some fucked up combination thereof? The guilt is replaced with regret. You sob into your hands and sink to the floor as you replay your entire relationship in your head, regretting everything you said and did that lead to you feeling like this. 

You aren’t looking forward to the Avengers’ return. As you lay crying on the ground, you begin to mentally prepare yourself for the fake smiles and untruthful explanations. By the time you wake up tomorrow, they’d be here, knocking on your door and requesting meetings. You decide the best thing to do is to throw yourself completely into your work, but you can’t seem to move away from your hardwood floor. 

Your cheek is pressed to the cool wood, and so many tears have left your eyes that a headache is beginning to throb behind them. There’s plans to be made but your body physically can’t remove itself from the ground. The tips of your fingers and your toes are numb, unfeeling and unreceptive. So many emotions are flooding your bloodstream that your mind can’t handle anything else besides processing them. You don’t know how much time you’ve been laying there, but the sun has set a while ago, and your eyelids feel heavy. Sleep feels like a welcome release, and you curl your knees to your chest, resting your arm under your head like a pillow. You hope you don’t dream tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I so appreciate the comments, kudos, and bookmarks! I apologize for the angst, but there’s also a ton more coming. You are honestly not as good of a psychologist as you thought you were, lmao.  
> Next week’s chapter will be in Bucky’s point of view! Love you all, xoxo


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is from Bucky’s POV, thought I’d change it up a little bit, sorry for all the angst and violence I love to suffer

_It’s been weeks since I’ve seen her, and even longer since the last time I touched her. I’m starting to forget what she feels like. ___

__He closes his notebook and tucks it under his mattress, where three others lay hidden and full. It’s getting harder for him with each and every day, mission, and nightmare. He had been approved for the Avengers a week after you stopped seeing him, as it was assumed the treatment ended because he was better and fully functional. He wasn’t and still isn’t._ _

__After every mission, he returns worse and worse, a little bit less of a person than he was when he left. For Bucky, it’s too close to what he did for HYDRA, only now he’s on the other side of the battle. Every time one of his bullets fatally blows through an enemy or when he has to feel the crack of their neck under his hands and the life leaving them, it kills him too. He’s still a killing machine, he’s still in the same position, but this time he gets to keep his memories and all the death stirs around in his mind, never settling. There’s no one for him to tell anymore except the pages of his notebooks._ _

__He leans forward in his chair to tighten the laces on his combat boots, as he is expected to go on another mission with Steve this evening. It’s supposed to be a simple recon mission of a suspected HYDRA base, then if warranted, an appearance from the two super soldiers to scare them. It never ends simply though, there’s always death and destruction wherever he goes._ _

__Once his boots are fitted to his liking, he stands and adjusts his new tactical suit. It’s a thick, sturdy fabric in black and navy blue with lots of places for him to stash weapons and ammunition. He also has a pair of new eyewear, equipped with all the technology he’d need for a perfect shot every time, not like he needs it, as he knows just how fatal he is without it._ _

__Once everything is ready for his mission, he pushes his goggles up to rest on the top of his head while also keeping his hair out of his face. As he exits his room, he sees Steve standing by the front door, fulling donned in his Captain America uniform, pulling his gloves on with his shield attached to his back. The blond lifts his head when he hears Bucky close the door behind him and offers him a small smile._ _

__“Ready to go?” he asks gently. He’s the only one who knows that Bucky isn’t quite right. However, he never says anything, thinking that all the stoic man needs is space._ _

__Bucky only nods in response and heads out the door. Steve grabs his mask before following behind him. The two men descend the stairs and reach the main exit of the building. As Bucky holds the door open for his friend he catches a glimpse of you, standing on the top of the staircase. The pain that shoots through his body when he sees how absolutely beautiful you look makes him freeze where he stands, staring at you. You’re all dolled up, wearing an yellow dress like all the sunrises you watched together. The fabric flows around the curves of your body and your matching heels give you a couple more inches of height, making your legs look like they go on forever._ _

__He remembers Steve mentioning that your newly released book is doing incredibly well, and he can only imagine you’re off to some luxurious New York dinner party with other successful authors. The way you glide down the staircase and the single strand of hair brushing against your cheek, free from the rest of your tresses contained in a bun make him lose all focus._ _

__“Bucky, hey, Buck,” Steve’s growing volume snaps his attention back and he glances at the blond before looking back at you. Finally, he meets your eyes, if only for a split second, captured with how they gleam against your lashes. You stop in your steps once you see his ice blue eyes staring into yours. He flicks his eyewear down to cover his stare, to cover you, before he turns and follows Steve._ _

__Hours later, he’s sitting in the co-pilot’s seat of the stealth jet heading towards the mission site. The expression on his face is blank as he stares out the window through his tactical goggles, watching the black of the night in between clouds as the interface tries to give him information. He’s thinking of you, the image of you in that dress is seared in his mind._ _

__Steve sits in the back, going over the mission plan, checking and re-checking the equipment to keep his hands from being idle. The pilot, a man who introduced himself, but Bucky didn’t care enough to remember his name, sits besides the Winter Soldier. He presses some of the buttons on the lit panel and Bucky can feel the nose of the plane tip forward to start its descent._ _

__Suddenly, a high-pitched, urgent beeping fills the cockpit, and the pilot fumbles around with the controls until he finds what’s wrong. “There’s something headed towards us, fast,” he says as the beeping continues._ _

__Time slows as Bucky sees something glow in the dark of the night. It gets closer and closer way too fast. He thinks he hears Steve yell, ‘ _missile_ ,’ and the pilot jerks the controls in response. But it still rips through the left side of the jet. The machinery is screaming and the sound of the frigid wind forcing itself into the plane is deafening. _ _

__The difference in air pressure starts to suck out whatever isn’t tethered down, and that includes the pilot’s seat, jostled loose from the hit. Bucky reaches out and manages to grab the pilot’s arm, the wind threatening to take him still. Without thinking, Bucky releases his seatbelt to grab onto the other man with both his human and metal hands. The natural forces are stronger than his synthetic strength, and the pilot slips out of the soldier’s grasp, into the darkness._ _

__The plane is spinning out of control, and now without a seatbelt, Bucky is tossed from his co-pilots chair, the wind pulling on his body towards the open air. He manages to take hold of some mangled part of the plane with his metal arm and he can feel exactly where his flesh was melded into the metal strain apart. He knows he’s yelling out in pain, but he can’t hear himself over the howling of the wind._ _

__From the back of the jet, Steve managed to put on his parachute and is holding the second one for his best friend. He is desperately trying to find safe spots to hold onto to get to Bucky. The brunet can see the panic in the other’s eyes, and it all feels too familiar._ _

__He’s taken back to the 1940s, holding onto a section of a broken train with nothing but emptiness underneath him. Steve is reaching out for him, and yelling for him to hang on, but he’s not strong enough. He’s still not strong enough._ _

__Instead of Steve’s hand outstretched, it’s the parachute pack. Bucky can see him mouthing for him to take it, the wind and the wailing of the totaled plane too loud to hear his voice. It’s just out of his reach, but he reaches anyways, just like he did before. The suction takes advantage of his loose grip and drags him out into the cold, night air._ _

__He’s plummeting into the nothingness again and the terrifying dread of impending death courses through his bloodstream. This time however, it’s followed by a strange sense of calm and acceptance. He should have died the first time he fell, maybe this is fate correcting itself._ _

__The air swirling around him is replaced by the crushing, even colder waves of the ocean. When his body hits the water, he hears his bones break. For a regular man, hitting the water from that height would have been like hitting pavement with an almost instantaneous demise. The serum of course, continues to help him elude the death he has accepted._ _

__While his throat and lungs fill with saltwater his thoughts go to you. If he was supposed to die all those years ago in the snow, it didn’t explain why you were brought into his life. He thinks about how it felt to have you completely for those couple of days. As the weight of his tactical suit drags him deeper into the ocean, he only feels lucky that he got you at all. Maybe seventy years of agony was worth it if you were the end result, if only for a fleeting moment._ _

__The pain ebbs away as oxygen leaves his brain and the freezing water numbs him. His thoughts start to become distorted as he slips into unconsciousness. On the first day you met, you dolled up like those girls he took dancing in the 40s, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Steve, skinny and frail, his nose bleeding in an alley but his bravery making up for his size. Clean shaven and putting on his uniform for the first time, Rebecca adjusting his collar and saying how their father would be proud. He’s between the bridges, with no more death and no more suffering._ _

__He is forced to sleep by the water swallowing him whole, until something plunges into the cold with him, and brings him back._ _

__\--_ _

__Bucky wakes to a steady beeping of a monitor, and to the sterile smell of an infirmary. The eerie feeling that time has passed is strong as he looks at his surroundings. The ache of his body is dulling, and he remembers the crack of his bones and the salt in his lungs. He’s been here long enough for the serum to mend most of him. He relives what were supposed to be his final thoughts, and anger engulfs him._ _

__It was supposed to be over, he was supposed to be done. Adrenaline surges through him as he rips away the wires to stand. He moves to the window to find he’s back at the Avengers Compound. People are walking in between the buildings outside, talking to each other, smiling and laughing. Inside the structures, they’re making weapons, training, planning new missions for him. His stomach drops as he realizes that it’ll never be over, he’ll never be done._ _

__Without thinking, he crashes his metal fist through the large window, shattering it instantly. The glass rains down on him and the ground below. All of the people are now staring at him, frightened and confused. The door to the infirmary swings open, and a terrified looking nurse accompanied by a security guard enter. He’s taken back to all of those times they wiped his memory in HYDRA. The medical staff looked scared, but sympathetic, and the many guards seemed dead inside, with their guns pointed at him, ready to shoot him for any little reason._ _

__He doesn’t see that the guard is relatively calm and has her hands up with caution. With ringing ears from past memories, he can’t even hear her ask if he’s okay. Their faces meld with ones who he knows are long dead, but still haunt him._ _

__In a flash, he sprints over the broken glass to push the security guard up against the wall, his fingers coiled around her neck. He watches her lips turn blue and gape open until she stops struggling underneath him. If not for the nurse, coming out of his shock to scream, he would have kept going until she was dead. Tossing her limp body into the pile of glass, Bucky kicks the back of the nurse’s leg as he turns to run out the door. The smaller man falls to the ground, now screaming in pain from his snapped bones._ _

__Bucky reaches behind his back to grab the gun that used to be holstered there, but only grips air. The nurse is trying to crawl away from him, and the Winter Soldier shakes his head in confusion when the man’s face keeps changing. He doesn’t know where he is anymore, and there’s so much yelling and screaming breaking through the ringing. Bucky finally discerns that the man inching away from him on the ground is not a threat, and he reaches his arms down to help him back up._ _

__Before he can, a blinding and burning white light sends him flying back against the wall. Stumbling to get up and blinking his eyes to rid them of the brightness, he can feel that he was not done healing. There’s an aching in his body from either the fall or his will to live leaving him._ _

__When he can finally stand, and his blurred vision clears, he sees Tony Stark, in his Ironman suit, hovering above the ground, holding both palms up at him. He wants to run away, his flight or fight response is kicking in again and he tries to make a run for it towards the ruined window, only to be stopped by another blast from Tony’s suit. He then tries to crawl towards it, glass digging into his hand and knees. Stark keeps shooting until the Winter Soldier lays motionless, back to being unconscious._ _

__Tony’s feet hit the ground and he pops his helmet open to survey the scene with his bare eyes. “FRIDAY, bring in the medics,” he commands to his AI as he walks to Bucky’s still body, “and get S.H.I.E.L.D on the phone.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comments, and bookmarks are so important to me, thank you all for suffering through this angst with me!  
> PTSD is very serious, like… please support those around you who have it or take care of yourself if you do, you are so strong.   
> I truly do apologize for all the angst, but good things are coming for your poor, dear Bucky!


	15. Chapter 15

When Steve told you what happened, it felt like your world was crashing down around you for the second time. He was distraught and needed an emergency session, but you had no idea what could have possibly happened. Tony had spoken to Steve candidly after the incident, saying that he will be sending Bucky back to Wakanda, and that he is being held in S.H.I.E.L.D Tower until they could contact T’Challa. Steve told you that the way Tony spoke was like he was returning a defective product. 

It has been months since you broke things off with Bucky, and you are sure that your anxiety and worry is rolling off you in waves. You sit in the back of a familiar cab with the driver, Dopinder, humming along to a song in a different language. There have been many events in the city that you had to attend from the release of your new book, and Dopinder has driven you to every single one of them. He is always polite and never asks too many questions. Especially today, when he can sense how uneasy you are. 

He pulls up in front of S.H.I.E.L.D Tower and offers a meek smile before you climb out. After a half-hearted wave from you, he drives away, leaving you feeling suddenly alone. You enter the building and gain a visitor pass easily enough, as Stark told them you’d be dropping by to do a final assessment on the Winter Soldier. While you stand in the elevator and watch it open to Bucky’s floor, nostalgia hits you like a brick. It feels like years have gone by since you first walked across this hallway as you are doing now. 

When you reach the last door at the end of the hall, you stop to smooth out your shirt, not because it was wrinkling, but because your hands won’t stop shaking. The door has gotten a major upgrade in security, and you must wait for the glaring red lights to shine green before you push the heavy thing open. 

The room looks the same as how you left it, metal everywhere and a security camera in the corner, like a prison cell. Only this time, the bed has some new additions: metal clamps to hold its occupant down. They’re open now, but Bucky is laying there, his arms and legs still resting in the clasps like they were only just released for your visit. He looks almost as bad as the first time you saw him, pale, greasy hair, dead expression. You see him flinch as the door closes and automatically locks behind you, even though he’s still staring at the ceiling. 

Swallowing hard, you wring your hands in your shirt, unsure as what to do next. A part of you wishes you could simply climb into bed with him, and another part is so overwhelmed with emotion that tears are already threatening to spill from your eyes. 

You had no idea you would feel like this when you saw him. The distance you put between each other was supposed to help dissipate and ease these feelings building back up inside of you, but it only cemented them. Even though he looks broken, almost unhuman, you realize in that moment that you are never going to stop loving him. Tears flow freely, and you bring your hand up to cover your mouth, stifling your cries. He stirs when he hears you and brings his arms out of the open clamps to prop himself up. Confusion glazes over his features, and then his brow furrows, as if he is unsure if you are really here. 

“(Y/N)?” his voice is hoarse yet soft, because even if you weren’t here, he’d want this to last. 

He starts to push himself up to a sitting position and reaches his hand out. You can’t take not touching him anymore. You’ve been touched starved yourself since your last kiss with him and it makes your skin burn just thinking about his hands on you. In an instant, you’re moving onto his bed, fingers fitting in between the spaces of his outstretched ones as your other hand rests in its place on his chest, over his heart. Metal moves around your torso to bring you to him, and your shins move to either side of his lap. He seems hesitant to close the last bit of space lingering between your lips, so you brush yours softy against his. 

Sparks re-light inside both of you as Bucky takes the touch and runs with it, crashing his lips against yours. Under your fingertips, you can feel his heart beating out of his chest as he kisses you so desperately, like it’s returning the life back inside of him. The metal of his arm tightens around you to bring you as close as possible. You can taste the salt of your tears on your tongue as you kiss him back, body shaking against his. 

Bucky pulls away from you and looks over your face with concern, energy returning to his blue eyes. You’re practically sobbing, but you have a bittersweet smile gracing your lips. He lets go of you hand to brush his warm fingers against your cheek as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

Your smile fades into a wobbling lip while you say, “I-I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

“Don’t be, doll,” he replies as his palm cups your cheek, stroking your tear stained skin with his thumb.

“No, t-this is all my fault,” you shake your head and back your face away from his fingers, confused as to why he seems so at peace with his situation, “Why aren’t you upset?”

He doesn’t seem out of wits anymore, he’s clear, eyes focused on you, and… happy? It’s like the past few months of pain were nothing for him, but you can still feel it aching in the back of your mind. It doesn’t make sense to you until he answers your question, “It doesn’t matter anymore, because you’re back in my arms.”

His words hit you to your core, making you melt. Your hands move up to his face, as you lean forwards to kiss him once more. Both of his arms are wrapped tightly around you now, and you’re so enveloped it’s like you can feel him everywhere. He’s all too eager to be kissing you again, and you’re savoring every moment, and every movement of his lips.

You pull away only out of necessity to breathe, his tight grip on your body is squeezing your lungs. The prickle of stubble under your hands is such a familiar and soothing feeling as you stare into his beautiful eyes. You feel so elated, but the pang of guilt in the pit of your stomach is back. As you whisper, “I’m sorry,” yet again, you realize that no matter how many times you say it, you don’t know if you’ll be able to forgive yourself.

“(Y/N),” he says in a low voice, “you don’t have to apologize. Do you know how many nights I’ve stayed up thinking about why you ended it? I understand.”

“But if I hadn’t, then you wouldn’t be back in this room.”

“I don’t care.” 

His curt words surprise you once again, and you don’t think he understands the seriousness of the situation as you softly say, “Bucky, they’re sending you back to Wakanda. They’re going to put you back on ice.”

This finally garners the reaction you were expecting as his smile twists into a frown, and his arms around you loosen. “Is that why you’re here then,” he asks, his usually strong voice wavering, “to say goodbye?”

You shake your head quickly and slide your hands down to his shoulders as you respond, “No, I… I think I have a plan.”

His pensive gaze pierces your eyes as he sees the uneasiness in you, and his voice is laced with determination as he says, “I’m not letting you go. Not again. I haven’t had a future in seventy years, it’s just been one hit after the other and struggling to keep up. I never had the time to think about what my life would be like further than surviving until the next day. I barely ever thought about it when I was younger either, but I think about it now, with you.”

Smiling once again, you kiss his cheek before you speak, “For years all I thought about was school, and now I’ve been so focused on my work, that I lost track of my future too. And honestly, nothing I’ve ever learned, practiced, or wrote has made me feel as full and happy as you. And I’m still so sorry that it took me breaking both our hearts, and almost losing you forever for me to figure it out.”

His smile now has such a sense of bliss and fulfilment, an expression that you only caught a glimpse of when you were between the bridges with him. Everything felt like it was up in the air then, and now your path is clear. Your plan had just been an idea, a few things that you could do to keep Bucky from being frozen in time again while you moved on, but it’s building inside your head, and when you ask if he wants to hear it, his immediate answer is yes.

\--

After careful whispers of explanation and improvising of a plan that is more definite, you end up laying on your side, head resting on Bucky’s bicep, and legs intertwined. His fingers are stroking your side and his head is tilted to watch you. You are looking at your hand rising and falling along with his breathing as you think further about the plan. 

“It’s getting late,” Bucky says, breaking the comfortable silence that never feels wrong between you. 

You sigh in response and pull yourself away from his warmth to prop yourself up on your elbow. Glancing at the window you’ve looked out of so many times, you see pink and purple stretching through the clouds, indicating it’s almost sunset. You also get a peek at the camera on the other side of the room, pointing right at you, it’s red recording light almost seems like it’s mocking you. Who knows who has been watching the feed, watching you and Bucky so close to each other, murmuring about ways to break him out. Hopefully you were either quiet enough or distracting enough for whoever watching not to hear. 

“I should go get things in place,” you say, as it feels like your heart has to break again to part from him. 

His hands follow your movements, and don’t leave your body until you’re completely standing up. Not wanting to be apart from you either, he quickly gets up as well, and follows you the few steps to the door. You have your hand on the handle, and as you turn back to say goodbye to him, his lips once again catch yours.

His big hands are immediately on your waist, but your own tightens around the door knob, because if you let go, you don’t know if you’ll be able to leave. Your free arm rests on top of his, and you can feel his muscles tense, then relax at your touch. It’s hard to describe just how perfect his pouty lips feel locked with yours, and how when your eyes close to embrace it, there’s fireworks of light behind your lids. 

It ends all too quickly, and your hand slides down his arm as he releases your waist. As you gaze into his piercing blue eyes you say, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I missed that.”

“What?”

“The idea of a tomorrow with you,” he replies as he kisses the top of your head while your fingers turn the doorknob. After whispering ‘I love you’ to each other, you’re suddenly back in the hallway. The feeling of his skin lingers on yours as you walk towards the elevator, but you know it won’t be long before you can feel it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me comments, kudos, and bookmarks, I thrive off the feedback (and compliments lmao)  
> The mountain of angst has finally been passed, and there's nothing but love after this! <3


	16. Chapter 16

Your heart feels so full that it may explode right here on the back of Natasha’s motorcycle. Your arms are securely around her trim waist as you ride through New York City, like you’re giving her one last, long hug. Just 24 hours ago, this plan you are executing was only a passing thought in your head, and it has come together better than you ever hoped for.

Natasha looked like she was about to cry when you had told her your plan the day before, not wanting to lose more of her friends, but ultimately content with your decision. She is your right-hand man for this final mission, she helped finalize some details you weren’t sure about, bring in other members of the team, and simply be there to support you. You know a part of her longs for a normal life, to be free from the burdens everyone in the Avengers Compound holds, and she is more than happy to help liberate you and Bucky.

A few blocks away from the S.H.I.E.L.D Tower, Natasha brings the motorcycle to a stop. Wanda and Vision pull up next to you in a small car as both you and the blonde get off the bike, shaking your hair out from the confines of the helmet. The Scarlet Witch parks the car in the alley next to you, and Natasha opens the back door, throwing her helmet in and pulling out a pistol. She checks the magazine and the barrel to make sure it’s loaded with rubber bullets as Wanda and Vision exit their vehicle. 

The usually red man has managed to change his skin tone to a pale, peachy color, a trick he taught himself recently. Although he looks mostly human now, he still has to don a knit cap to cover the glowing stone on his forehead. He slips his hand casually into Wanda’s as Natasha tucks the gun into the waistband of her jeans and you retrieve a backpack from the backseat.

“Are we ready?” you ask nervously, fingers tightening around the straps of your pack, hoping that everything will go smoothly. 

“As we’ll ever be,” Natasha says with a smirk while the couple nods in agreement. 

You smile as you watch the two in front of you share an affectionate glance before reluctantly pulling their hands away. Wanda was your second recruit, eager to help you and Bucky. During the months the Winter Soldier went on missions, she and him had grown close. She was the only one on the team to know how it felt to be in the clutches of HYDRA, to be ostracized and treated as subhuman for things that were out of her control, yet to be so brave and kind despite it all. You know that Bucky misses his little sister and Wanda misses her brother. In their own strange way, they fill each other’s gaps like two puzzle pieces. Vision of course was brought on with Wanda, curious to see what extents humans would go to in the name of love. You were grateful to have both on your team.

With a deep breath, you lead your troupe out of the alley and to the entrance of the towering S.H.I.E.L.D building. The last time you were here, Natasha’s distraction was more than enough to get Bucky out, but ever since then, they have tripled their security, specifically against the Russian’s talents. For this last mission together, she plants herself near the entrance of the Tower. As she leans against the structure, she pulls out a pack of cigarettes, so to any bystanders it looks like an employee on a smoke break. Her hand is resting nonchalantly on her hip, only inches away from the hidden gun. 

With Natasha in place, the rest of your group approaches the entrance that can no longer be accessed without a passcode and keycard. Vision puts his hand over the card reader, and you can hear the hum of the electric current until the lights turn green and the door pops open. Pleased with himself, he gives a soft smile to Wanda for her to enter. 

She straightens her posture and pulls the door open, entering the lobby with you and Vision close behind her. One of the many security guard notices your group and a look of panic crosses his face. He begins to yell to the other guards in the room as he fumbles for his stun gun. 

The Scarlet Witch is calm as she brings her arms up, her twirling fingers are engulfed in red as she says with a thick accent, “Stop, don’t move.” Trails of red energy leave her body and infiltrate all of the guards’ heads. They stop completely in their steps, frozen in time as Wanda’s powers take over their thoughts and movements. 

Once every one of them has been affected, Vision glides over to the control panel, pressing his hands on the computer hard drives. He invades the system and orders it to open every door in your path with ease. The elevator opens with a ding on his command, and he nods to you. You look for Wanda’s approval and she gives you the go-head with a knowing smile, the red wisps trail up into the higher floors.

You race to the elevator and the doors close automatically, the ascent to Bucky’s floor is immediate thanks to Vision. As soon as the elevator re-opens, you are bombarded with the sight of moving ropes of energy, circling SHIELD agents who are completely still. Wanda’s power makes the it look like the Tower has been overrun with ever-growing, red ivy. It’s almost beautiful in a frightening way, but you shake those thoughts out of your head as you run to Bucky’s room, the door opening as you get closer. 

Swinging the backpack off your shoulders as you enter the room, you almost run right into Bucky. He stops you with his hands moving quickly to your waist, a grin on his lips just at the sight of you. Seeing him look so good, so clear-minded and mentally healthy makes your heart want to jump out of your chest. The only thing that could make him recover so quickly from the unfortunate circumstances he was in the Tower for is hope. Hope for you to come back to him, and for the first time in his life, genuine and definite hope for his future. 

Pressing the backpack to his chest, you raise yourself up on the tip of your toes to give him a quick kiss in greeting. His hands leave your body to open the pack and take out its contents: a plain jacket and gloves to hide his metallic appendage, and the baseball cap you had him wear the first time you broke him out of this building. 

As he puts on what you brought for him to help blend into the crowd, he asks, “How is everything going?”

“Good,” you start, then quickly add, “it’s going perfectly, but you have to hurry, we’ve got a plane to catch.”

He puts his hat on last, then takes your hand, leading you out of the prison-like room once and for all. You rush hand in hand back to the elevator, open and waiting for you, but Bucky’s movements slow with a look of shock on his face as he sees all of the SHIELD workers standing in place, like statues. 

“Damn,” he says after you’re on the elevator and the doors are closing, clearly impressed with Wanda’s abilities. Laughing a little to yourself, you squeeze his hand while the machinery rumbles, speeding down the floors to open back at the lobby. Even though you were only gone for minutes, Wanda looks tired. Upon noticing your arrival, Vision takes his hands off the computers and goes to the Scarlet Witch’s side, his hand moving to her back to steady her. 

“Is it done?” you ask Vision.

He nods and answers, “All of the video feeds have been erased, it’s like we were never here.”

At his words, the red energy surrounding the area begins to dissipate and Wanda brings her arms down. She leans against her boyfriend’s arm, as he begins to lead her to the exit, the door still open and waiting for them. You and Bucky follow, and he makes sure to securely close the door behind him, hearing the locking mechanisms click. 

There’s not nearly enough time for the thorough goodbyes you wish you could give your teammates. Wanda knows of the time constraints, but she turns around and hugs both of you at the same time anyways. You press your cheek against hers lovingly and whisper goodbye. She pulls away, tears escaping her eyes. Before she returns to Vision’s side, she looks up at Bucky and says something in Russian, garnering a smile from the man. 

Once she’s back to her boyfriend, Bucky catches him in his icy gaze and the two share a respectful nod. The couple walks briskly away, back to their getaway car in the alley, leaving Natasha, still leaning against the building. She’s not one for goodbyes, but she pushes herself off the Tower wall and walks over to you. 

“Stay safe,” she says as she brushes her fingers against your shoulder, “but I’ll always be there if you need me.”

“We’ll contact you as soon as we get there,” you murmur, your voice wavering with sadness. 

She smiles sweetly at you before turning her attention to Bucky, also opting to say something in Russian to him. The corner of his mouth twitches into a half-smile before he nods in understanding. She pats his arm and gives you one last meaningful look before turning on her heel and following Wanda and Vision back to the alley. 

As soon as the three are out of sight, a taxi pulls up, right on time. The familiar driver waves and you lead Bucky to the car, getting in after him to stay on his right side. It simultaneously seems like not too long ago, yet also years since you were in the back of this same cab, holding hands for the first time the whole ride. You do the same now, except you lean over to rest your head against his bicep and he strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. 

“So,” he speaks, the curiosity getting the best of him, “where are we going?” 

Natasha gave you Clint’s secure line, and you spent a while talking to him on the phone the day before. He was the inspiration for your plan. The secluded house and a family tucked away from harm wasn’t just a pipe dream for you and Bucky anymore. Thanks to Clint, it’s your reality. 

“England,” you answer with a smile, “Clint activated a safehouse for us in the countryside, a couple miles away from the ocean.”

“Hm,” he says as he looks back out the window.

“I mean, it’s only to get off the radar for a while,” you pause, considering the implications of sharing a house with him by yourselves, “It’s not permanent… You don’t have to stay.”

Bucky releases your hand and slides his arm around your shoulders, bringing your head to his chest. He tilts your face up towards him to press his lips softly against you, before retorting, “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Your heart flutters at the thought of being with him for the rest of your lives, partly because of the excitement, and the other part being fear. “You say that now, but you haven’t lived with me full time yet,” you say, humor lacing your words, but also a bit of truth. 

“You know, my grandfather married my grandma after six months of meeting, and my father proposed to my ma after four weeks of dating,” a rare grin spreads across his features, one you think he often wore as a young man of a different era, as he speaks, “I think us Barnes men just know.”

Heat pools in your cheeks as you stutter, “W-what are you implying?”

“Ah, nothin’ doll, don’t worry about it,” he teases and looks back out the window as your cab approaches the private airport and pulls to a stop.

Dopinder turns around to smile at you, clearly listening to your conversation. Bucky climbs out of the cab and holds his hand out for you. You hold up a finger to him as you remove the mostly empty backpack and hand it to the driver through the square opening of the cab divider. He looks a bit confused until he fishes out an envelope thick with cash from the bottom of the bag. With wide eyes he tries to pass it back through the divider exclaiming, “No, no Ms. (L/N), I can’t accept this!”

“Yes, you can,” you say sternly, pushing the envelope back, “you deserve all of it and more, thank you so much for all your help.”

He exclaims a thank you as you climb out of the car and take Bucky’s outstretched hand. The two of you walk through the gated entrance of the private airport, towards the Stark plane and someone else waiting for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos, and bookmarks are so very appreciated, I love you all.  
> I feel really bittersweet about this, but this chapter is basically part 1 of the ending, the next chapter will be the last one, then there will be a short epilogue for some closure. It's been such a journey, but it's time to end it, thank you for everyone who's been on this crazy ride with me, you have no idea how much you all mean to me.


	17. Chapter 17

The someone turns out to be two someones. You wave to the men loading your bags into the plane after you and Bucky enter the private airport. As you approach, the pilot turns on the engine, as she was instructed to do when she sees you on the tarmac. Sam hugs you as soon as you’re in arm’s reach and you laugh against his chest, clearly going to be missed by the man. 

“Damn,” he says as he releases you, with his hands still on your shoulders, “now I’m going to be the slowest runner at the compound again.” 

You let go of Bucky’s hand to place yours on Sam’s forearms saying, “We still have to co-write that book, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

He grins at you before dropping his arms and turning his attention to Bucky. “I left you something on the plane, but we still aren’t friends so don’t get any ideas,” the glimmer in his eye and the half smile on his lips shows that he’s only joking with the man who’s grown on him. 

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Bucky retorts as he holds out his human hand to him. Sam takes it and the two affectionately bump their shoulders against each other. 

As the frenemies say their goodbye, you catch a glimpse of Steve tossing in the final piece of luggage. It looks like he’s trying to mask the sadness in his face and his eyes are full of pain. You walk past the two men, who have already gone back to bickering, to the blond. Your hand immediately goes to his cheek and he smiles bittersweetly down at you. 

“You know this isn’t goodbye forever.”

“Sweetheart, I’m losing the two people who matter the most to me.”

“Hey,” you say with a sly smile as you bring your hand back to your side, “the telephone has been invented, and we don’t travel by carriage in the 21st century. We’re only a phone call or a plane ride away.”

Steve chuckles and shrugs as he looks over your shoulder to his best friend before returning to your gaze with a serious expression, “Please take care of him.”

Your eyes prick with tears as you nod and say, “Always.” 

Pulling him in a tight, final hug, a tear rolls down your cheek. He’s the reason you’re here right now in this moment. If you hadn’t been assigned to rehabilitating him then your life would be so drastically different, and so, so lonely. These bonds you’ve created with the members of the famed Avengers will last a lifetime, and it breaks your heart to leave them and New York. You have hope though, hope that they’ll be fine without you, and hope for your bright future with Bucky.

You finally let go of the captain and wipe the tears off your cheeks, smiling happily. You turn your head to watch Sam wave goodbye and leave the airport as Bucky walks up to you. He rests his hand on the small of your back and kisses the top of your head. The plane’s engine has been steadily getting louder as you exchanged your farewells, and now you can barely even hear Bucky say, “I think you better make sure the plane isn’t leaving without us, (Y/N).”

You nod your head as you cover your ears, turning on your heel towards the little stairway leading to the open plane door. As you reach the top step, before entering, you watch the two men’s lips move, unable to hear what they’re saying. They both look so sad, but then Bucky says something that makes Steve laugh, and the two embrace like they have so many times throughout so many years. 

Leaving them their privacy, you step into the plane, unsurprised at the luxurious interior of the Stark craft. It’s not like a regular passenger airplane, it looks fit for business. There’s a table with sophisticated seating, two rows facing each other and the table in between. Why Stark would need to conduct a meeting with someone while 35,000 feet up in the sky you’ll never know. You’re pretty sure he only has such an impressive fleet of planes so he can renew his mile high club membership whenever he fancies. 

Taking a spot at the table, you notice a couple of boxes and an envelope with your name on it in Pepper’s handwriting. You tear it open carefully and take out the letter, disappointed that you didn’t get to say goodbye in person. She writes a full page on how much she’ll miss you, but how excited she is for you to restart your life in England. Another page is on how much she knows Tony will miss you too, but won’t admit it. On the back of the final page, there is a scrawl of numbers in Tony’s chicken scratch writing and an explanation. Your mouth gapes as you read, _’There’s enough money in this untraceable Swiss bank account to keep you comfortable for a while kid, then you’ll have to get a new, boring job that’s not working for the greatest company on Earth. – Tony’_

Refolding the letter, you tuck it back into the envelope and slip it into your pocket for safe-keeping. You reach for the larger of the two boxes when you hear the plane door click closed. Turning your head expectantly, you smile at Bucky, whose cheeks are flushed from rubbing away the tears you know he shed for his best friend. He mirrors your smile and sits next to you, instantly putting his hand on your thigh. 

“Are you okay?” you ask as you place your hand on top of his.

“I will be,” he says back, and the need to ask the curious question about what was said is burning the tip of your tongue. He can see it on your face and laughs a little at your inquisitive expression. “He said that he’s glad I’m getting the happy ending he wish he could’ve gotten with Peggy. I told him that there’s always been a part of me missing, but with you I’m whole.”

You slide your fingers into the spaces between his, and his gloved hand tilts your face up, so he can press his lips against yours. The plane begins moving into place on the runway as you share this easy, loving kiss. It’s new to you both, not hurried and secret, or leaving you with guilt. It’s right, how it was supposed to be from the start. 

He finally pulls away, and his glove leaves your face once the plane is safely up in the air. “Okay,” he says, eyeing the containers, “which one is from Sam?”

The bigger one has your name on it, so you push the smaller box over to him as you work on opening yours. He takes his hand off your thigh to unwrap his. Inside is a tiny microchip and a note that he takes out to read while you look inside the container in front of you. Yours holds a couple of smartphones and two tablets that were mentioned in Pepper’s letter. Pulling out one of the phones to examine it, you feel secure knowing that these are specially encrypted with no chance of being hacked or geo-located.

Bucky’s eyes scan the piece of paper and widen, a grin spreading across his lips. Setting the note down, he quickly takes off the glove from his metal hand and shrugs off his jacket. “Can you help me?” he asks as he rolls up his sleeve and you nod, putting down the phone, waiting for further explanation.

He lifts his heavy vibranium and runs his fingers over the ridges of the underside of his upper arm. With a smile, he tilts his jaw towards the box. “Take out the chip, and put it here,” he says as he taps a spot under his arm. 

You do what he asks and feel where his fingers just were, a small indent making itself known now that you know to look for it. Inserting the chip into the little slot you had no idea was there, you keenly look at Bucky. He glances at the piece of paper once more then reaches behind his metal shoulder. A blue sheen goes across the vibranium, then it is replaced with what looks like skin. 

Lifting up his newly modified arm to get a better look, Bucky has the biggest smile you’ve seen on him for a while. Hesitantly, you reach out to touch it, and the spot your fingers rest glow blue for a split second, adjusting to the new surroundings. It still feels cool to the touch, and you can feel the ridges, but you can no longer see them. Bucky looks like a regular man again, nothing to make him stand out from a crowd except how handsome he is. 

“Wow,” you murmur, marveling at how realistic it looks, “Sam did this?”

“The note says he contacted Shuri to update my arm,” Bucky says, reaching back to turn off the faux skin, “it’ll make life so much easier, normal.”

“Is that what you want then? A normal, average life with a dog, white picket fence, and a couple of kids?”

“I don’t know,” he answers with a soft, tired smile, “but it’s nice to have possibilities that I had given up on decades ago.” 

You hum an agreement while your eyes wander over his face. There’s bags under his eyes, and he brings his hand up to cover his mouth as he stifles a yawn. You wonder if he had gotten any sleep at all in the tower. “How long have you been awake?”

Closing his eyes to think about it, he rubs the bridge of his nose, “Coming up on three days I think, can’t really sleep with my arms and legs strapped down.”

“It’s a long flight, and you look so tired,” you say, holding your arms out for him. He only nods in response as he moves closer to you until he is engulfed in your arms. Before he rests fully against you, he fiddles with the seats, so they recline to a more comfortable angle, and thankfully some footrests pop out. He tries to push, then pull on the armrest separating you, but it wasn’t built to move. 

“Whoops,” he mumbles as he purposefully breaks the hated thing parting him from you and drops it under the table, “Stark can bill me.” A short laugh escapes you as you wrap your arms more securely around his shoulders, bringing his head to rest against your chest. 

Instead of leaning into your hold, Bucky reaches back and pulls out the tiny notebook you gave him almost a year ago. The cover is worn, and it’s almost doubled in thickness as all of the pages have been written in. He slips it into your hand then places his arm around your waist. Although you recognize it, you’re confused as to why he’s giving it to you. “What to do you want me to do with this?” you question as you examine the warped cover.

“Read it.”

“No, Bucky, the whole point of this notebook was for you to have a place to vent that no one else could see.”

“Please,” he sounds so sleep deprived, and you can see that his eyes are already closed.

Hesitantly, you flip it open to the first page. You’re immediately drawn into this little notebook and all it contains. There’s mostly black ink, but sometimes he uses blue to write out memories of his family, Steve, and the life he used to live. Sometimes he uses red to indicate the pain that HYDRA put him through. You run your fingers over the indents of where he is angry and presses so hard the letters leave echoes for pages and pages afterwards. There are also pages missing, ripped out in an attempt to purge those feelings. Sometimes he draws, schematics, maps, and occasionally just lines. There’s a section where all he draws is lines, imperfectly parallel with crosses through some, and you realize that he was counting the days, but you don’t know what for. 

And he writes about you. There’s so much about you. At first, it’s about how he doesn’t trust you, how he doesn’t know why Steve keeps talking about you, and he doesn’t like how you sometimes put your hair up like they did in his era. Then he questions himself as to why he’s writing about you so much. How every page seems to have your name on it. He then starts to write about the things he likes about you. How good you smell, how much you laugh, and how when it’s raining you always come in with wet hair like you stood outside just to enjoy it. 

You didn’t realize how much taking him to the roof meant to him, but he writes out everything that happened in detail, like he was afraid he’d forget, and needed to remember it no matter what. During the week you’re apart to plan for his breakout, he writes about how he’s not worried, how he knows you’ll be back for him. Once you do come back, he writes about how his nightmares start to have you in them, and how much that alarms him. He has so many nightmares.

The touch therapy starts in his writing and he’s so unsure, because of the feelings he carries for you. He writes in depth about how every touch from you means so much more to him, because of something he doesn’t want to admit to himself. All of the things written in this book take place long before those couple of days you spent alone together, and the very last thing he writes on the final page is that he loves you. He loves you so much it scares him. He loves you more than he thought it was possible to love someone. He loves you so much he’s willing to never say it just so he can stay near you. 

By the time you’re finished, your cheeks are drenched with tears. You gingerly close the notebook and take in a deep breath that hitches in your throat. Bucky stirs against you but settles once you stroke his hair. He fell asleep hours ago and stayed pressed to your side as you read. The swell in your chest feels like too much, like you’re going to burst from all the love inside your heart. You don’t want to disturb the man in your arms, so you lay a soft kiss on the top of his head before you open the notebook to read and re-live it all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the final chapter of my first fanfiction in years. Thank you everyone who has read it, left kudos, bookmarked it, or commented, you truly kept me going and I hope that you’ll continue to look out for my writing because I have so much more to give. **The epilogue will be posted next week along with the names of my new Bucky reader inserts to look out for.**
> 
> Songs that inspired this fic that I listened to religiously while writing:  
> A Little Death by The Neighbourhood  
> Feel Real by Deptford Goth  
> It’s You by Zayn  
> The Girl by City and Colour  
> Scary Love by The Neighbourhood


	18. Epilogue

It’s surprising how well-suited you and Bucky are for the English countryside lifestyle. The moment you laid eyes on your little cottage safehouse with its overgrown garden and strange charm, you felt like you were home. It is so peaceful and perfectly situated, only a couple miles from a rocky beach, an hour’s drive away from the city, and very few neighbors. There’s an elderly couple that lives the closest to your cottage, and they check up on you every so often, sharing freshly made bread or eggs from their chickens. You think they like to visit because they’re quite taken with Bucky’s Brooklyn accent that slips through every once in a while. 

The seclusion is ideal, and sometimes it feels like you and Bucky are the only two people in the world. Well, the only two people unless someone is visiting, which is quite frequently. Steve stays over as much as he can, sometimes bringing Sam or Natasha along. She visits on her own as well, usually for only a night in passing to a European mission. The small guest room never deters Wanda and Vision from cramming in together. Tony and Pepper prefer to stay in the city, but you and Bucky always drive in to meet them, and even flew back to New York for their surprisingly small and intimate wedding. 

Although years have passed, you never get tired of waking up in Bucky Barnes’ mismatched arms. He’s content with this existence as well, preferring the seemingly boring life that so many people take for granted. The free time has given him a chance to catch up on the years that he missed. He lays on the porch reading books that most high school students are assigned as you attempt to weed your yard that just won’t stop growing until you’re both pushed inside by the threat of rain. You curl up on the couch with him, showing the best movies from each decade while you’re snowed in, until the power eventually goes out. After loading up his phone with music from every era, you go on long walks to the beach, listening to the same playlist to see how he feels about the songs you choose. 

Your life with him is everything you never knew you wanted. It’s not perfect, Bucky’s issues don’t go away just because you love him. Thankfully, you found him a new therapist you trust in the city who sees him once a week. He wakes from nightmares less than he did in the states, but they’ll never be completely gone. There’s no other way you would want him, and you have your own problems too. Of course, you fight sometimes, but never for long, always ending back in each other’s arms. The good far outweigh the bad inside your little cottage, especially with the new arrival in a few short months.

It’s Saturday evening, Bucky should be returning from his therapy session soon. You are sorting through the mail on your kitchen counter, shifting your weight from leg to leg because your feet ache so badly. There’s a letter from Clint and Laura, an update on their life and some new pictures of their ever-growing children. You smile as you hold the family photo of five of until the ringer on your phone goes off and distracts you. The only ones who have your secure line’s phone number are the members of the Avengers, so you swipe to accept the call without thinking twice.

Bringing the phone up to your ear, you cradle it between the side of your face and your shoulder, so you can put the Barton family portrait on your fridge. “Hello?” you ask as you place two magnets in the upper corners of the picture.

“Ah, Ms. (L/N), I was hoping to speak to Sergeant Barnes,” the deep voice says over the speaker, and you quickly grab your phone again, relieving your neck from the awkward position. You’d recognize the low timbre of that voice anywhere, and your hand instinctively and protectively moves to your stomach. How the hell did Nick Fury get your phone number?

You can’t seem to speak, but you must make some sort of noise because Fury keeps talking, “There’s been a huge HYDRA flare up, and we need all the hands we can get.”

The familiar sound of your front door unlocking and swinging open makes you turn around and you have to wipe the shocked expression off your face and quickly replace it with a smile. Bucky walks through the living room to enter the kitchen with a telltale smirk on his face and his hands behind his back. You point to your phone then hold up a finger to the man, who nods in understanding as Fury keeps speaking into your ear, “Sergeant James Barnes has been completely pardoned for his actions, and we need the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky gives up trying to surprise you and sets down a bag of Chinese takeout, something you’ve been craving for days, on the counter next to you. Before he goes to get plates, he slips behind you and rests his hands on your swollen, pregnant stomach. He presses his cheek against the side of your head and you lean back against his touch. You can feel your unborn baby shift at her father’s touch, and in that fleeting moment you forgot the rest of the world. 

“Hello?” the voice of Fury snaps, as you haven’t said one word since picking up the phone.

“I’m so sorry,” you say as you tilt your head back against Bucky’s shoulder to look up at him and smile as your free hand moves to rest over his, “the Winter Soldier doesn’t exist anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this epilogue gives the closure you need! Be on the lookout for my next reader inserts because I have so many ideas and I am not going to stop writing them anytime soon! My next longer, multi-chapter fic will be an arranged marriage, royal!au set in 16th century England called "Royals." I also have two coming soon, “Hate That I Love You” and “Stress Relief,” both will be explicit with tons of smut because…. Why not?  
> Again, thank you everyone for all the support you’ve given me throughout this incredible journey. I will be continuing my Frequent Commenter Reward system in my new fics and I look forward to seeing your familiar usernames and avatars!


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